


The Lenten Season

by fms_fangirl



Series: Jealous Time [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Other, Relationship(s), Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4700900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fms_fangirl/pseuds/fms_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell's cinematic record is missing. Undertaker must engage in a battle to preserve her life and soul.</p><p>Picks up several weeks after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4250385">
A Wild Rose</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A note about pronouns: Grell identifies as female. I, therefore, use the feminine pronoun. Those characters who insist on viewing her as male use the masculine in the context of this work.

_February 18, 1890_

_Shrove Tuesday_

Ronald repressed a sigh and tried not to show his impatience as William carefully read through his report. There was no point in mentioning that his shift had ended; William would find an excuse to put him on overtime and he had a date. But he couldn’t resist trying to get a reaction from his supervisor.

“Have you noticed anything odd about Grell lately?” he asked.

“There is always something odd about Grell,” he replied without looking up.

“Really sir, think about it,” he insisted. “She’s been much quieter.”

“You say that as if it were a bad thing.”

“She still teases and flirts with everyone, but it’s different somehow… Like she’s just having a bit of fun – not trying to get everyone to pay attention to her.”

“Perhaps Sutcliff is finally learning how to behave himself.” He turned to the final page of the report and picked up his pen.

“She seems… happy. Maybe she’s in love.”

William’s pen halted in the middle of his signature. He was still for a long moment before letting out an uncharacteristic snort. “With someone grossly unsuitable, no doubt.”

Ronald snatched up the report as soon as he could and beat a hasty retreat to the door, hiding his grin all the while. Maybe the boss hadn’t liked being the object of Grell’s extravagant affections, but he didn’t seem too pleased that she had bestowed them somewhere else.

XXXXXXXXXX

“My dear fellow! Do come in. It has been far too long.” A distinguished gentleman, appearing to be in his mid-fifties, ushered Undertaker into a shop older and more cluttered than his own. “But why the note? You scarcely need permission to drop by.”

“I was concerned that my appearance might frighten off your customers. An Undertaker is never a welcome sight, especially these days.”

“True. These are dark days for some.” He moved a large stack of blank paper from a chair and gestured to his guest to sit. “But I suppose you are flourishing. I chose the wrong profession when I retired.” He removed a pair of blue-tinted wrap spectacles from his nose with a sigh of relief. “Wretched things,” he grumbled, “don’t help a bit.” But his green-gold eyes gleamed with humour.

“You seem well, Clarence. Business is good?”

“Good enough.” He produced a dusty bottle and two glasses from beneath the counter and poured them each a generous measure. “I could do without hordes of desperate writers begging for credit, all convinced they’re the next Dickens. And the starving poets! Heaven save me!” He threw his hands up in despair.

“Send one or two of them my way. I have plenty of clients who want memorials for their loved ones.” He sipped his brandy.

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, but might I ask to what I owe the pleasure?”

“I require several items,” he answered. “Some stationery and something else.”

“What sort of stationery? There are plenty of shops closer to your own.” He peered at his guest. “My dear fellow! Are you blushing?”

“Something suitable for correspondence with a lady – a lady who appreciates little gestures,” he admitted.

“Well, well!” he laughed. “Who would have imagined, after all these years that you would have fallen in love?” He became serious. “I will be pleased to select something that might suit. And what else?”

Undertaker took a deep breath; some habits simply never left. “I need a blank record and a Death Marker.”

“A blank record! A Death Marker! Have you gone mad?”

“I know I am asking a great deal.”

“You’re not just asking a great deal. You’re asking me to help you fly against the Will of the Higher Up!”

“I swear I would not ask such a thing if there were anywhere else I could go. You said dark days are upon us.” He stared into the shadows. “You may be more correct than you know.”

“Then go to the Council!” He drained his glass and poured another. “They would believe _you_.”

“My suspicions are too vague at the moment, but I believe I am dealing with someone whose record was not completely extracted. I have searched the Library and the original is missing. If someone or something has it in their possession…”

“You will need to recreate the entire record or the soul may be ripped apart.” A clock struck the quarter hour somewhere in the back of the shop. “But I still believe you should approach the Council.”

“You don’t understand.” He stood and began to pace restlessly, avoiding stone ink bottles and piles of paper strewn about the floor. “There is no one to care about the fate of this soul… No one but myself.”

“Is this the lady who appreciates little gestures?”

“Yes.”

“I shall think about what you have asked and, in the meantime, I shall send you something that should please her. But be careful, old friend. You are moving into very dangerous waters.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Grell slipped into Undertaker’s shop late that wet February evening. She was cold and soaked to the skin, her hair plastered to her head. Shedding her sodden coat, she tip-toed to the back, hoping, for once, to surprise him, but not too disappointed when he caught her into his arms and drew her close.

“My dear,” he murmured, stroking her wet hair, “you are chilled to the bone.”

“And I’m sopping wet,” she complained. “You had better let me go before I soak you as well.”

He reluctantly released her and guided her to the fire, where he wrapped her in a blanket. “You look so tired. You should have gone straight home.”

“Nonsense darling. We’ve barely had a minute to ourselves since you recovered from The Cold. It’s just this awful rain. It hasn’t stopped in weeks. And William has been horrid lately, sending me on jobs all over the country: three days in Northumberland last week and two in Wales just now. You’d think no one had died in London this past month.”

“I can assure you that is not the case,” he replied, handing her a mug of tea.

Grell wrapped her cold hands around the mug and sipped it gratefully. “Oh that is so good. There’s nothing like a nice cup of tea as Cook always said.” She accepted a bone-shaped biscuit and nibbled at it, wilting into a chair with a sigh.

“Difficult job?”

She nodded. “An accident in a coal mine – nine of them. Still, better than the workhouse last week. Typhoid really is beastly. I never thought I’d say I’d be glad to be stuck in the office for a day, but I have a mountain of reports to get through. Even William agreed I hadn’t time lately.” She gulped her tea nervously and flushed. “I shall have a free evening tomorrow.”

“Then tomorrow evening I shall call upon you.”

“Don’t be silly, darling,” she said as she stood. “I’ll stop by here when I’m done. I know you hate visiting the Office.”

“My dear,” he insisted, “you deserve to be courted a little.” He captured her hands and pressed his lips against her knuckles.

“Not too much, I hope,” she giggled. “Heaven knows when I’m going to have another free night.” She freed her hands and wound her arms around his neck, pulling his head down. “I don’t want to spend the entire evening making polite conversation,” she whispered against his lips.

“Neither do I,” he chuckled.

XXXXXXXXXX

_February 19, 1890_

_Ash Wednesday_

William T. Spears was at his happiest when his inbox was empty and he was allowed to work in peace. At that particular moment, however, with a pile of paperwork that showed no sign of decreasing and a constant stream of interruptions, he felt frustrated, impatient and in no mood to deal with another knock at his office door. Especially when he could recognize the scarlet blur through the frosted glass.

“William dear,” Grell’s head peaked around the door, “I’m sorry to be a bother, but it’s about these reports…”

His hand tingled; he itched to summon his Death Scythe and use it to push him out of his office, delivering a few smacks on his head for good measure, but managed to restrain himself and keep his voice level. He didn’t want to be sent on another Management Training Seminar. “Yes Grell. What is it?”

“I’ve finished the lot. Could you be a dear and look them over right away? I have an engagement this evening.”

Grell’s social life was definitely not his concern; in fact, he shuddered inwardly at the thought, but, remembering certain low scores he had received on his last Staff Evaluation Survey concerning Positive Feedback, he forced himself to be civil. “I am pleasantly surprised. Leave them here and I shall give them my immediate attention.”

He turned to the thick file, vaguely surprised that Grell had merely thanked him and left. He did _not_ want Grell’s exuberant gratitude, he told himself firmly. The reports seemed to be in order, except one. In the section for additional comments he had written, _“Although everything proceeded as normal and the soul was collected without incident, I would recommend further investigation.”_

This was the fourth report he had turned in over the past several weeks with a similar recommendation. He had dismissed the first two as examples of Grell’s love of drama, but his superiors were beginning to ask questions. Grell was known to be superb in combat – far better than he was, William admitted – and fearless. He would not easily admit to being disquieted by a job.

With a sudden spurt of shame, William realized that he had let his personal feelings interfere in this matter. Had any other reaper filed these reports, he would have sent someone to look into it. At the very least, he should ask Grell for further clarification before his superiors made good on their alarming threats of Team Building Exercises.

XXXXXXXXXX

She was behaving like a besotted young schoolgirl, staring dreamily into space and hugging herself with rapture every night before she fell asleep and loving every moment of it. She was radiant with joy, overflowing with happiness. Not even William’s scowls or her colleagues’ disdain could dissipate her rosy cloud of bliss.

They had spent only a few snatched moments together over the past weeks, but the memory of his gentle kisses and tender caresses made her shiver and tingle and long for more. She touched the note, tucked in her pocket, which had arrived that morning, running her finger across the thick creamy-white paper and embossed lily. “Silly fool!” she giggled to herself. “You’re hopelessly in love.”

Only another hour. She adored his old-fashioned courtesy, but hoped for more than kisses and gentle touches that night. A sudden shadow fell over her happiness as she glanced down to her lap. He swore she was a woman to him, but how would that play out when confronted by the evidence of everything that was wrong with her? _No one could ever love a freak like you_.

William’s sudden entrance distracted her from her thoughts.

“Oh hello,” she said. “Problem with my reports?”

“Just this one.” He opened it to her comments. “Can you explain further what you meant here?”

She sighed. “I know you think I’m being silly, but something just wasn’t right. It felt like I was being watched the whole time.”

“Any chance it was a demon?” he asked.

“I don’t know. At first I thought it might be, but then…” Her voice trailed off uncertainly. “It’s not the first time either. Has anyone else reported anything – unusual?”

“No. Is there anyone, right now, who might be-“

“Annoyed with me?” she interrupted with a grin. “Not outside of this office, as far as I know. I have been quite a good girl lately.”

“Quite. I shall send someone to investigate the area of your last job. Perhaps there is some minor demon lurking about. And, on the chance that it is someone – or something – with a personal grudge against you, I shall have Knox accompany you on your next few jobs.”

Grell was surprised by the genuine concern she saw in her supervisor’s face. “That is very kind of you,” she said quietly.

“Hardly,” he insisted. “The amount of paperwork and overtime when we lose a reaper is appalling.”

“If you say so,” she trilled. “Go on, admit it. You’d hate it if anything happened to me.”

“I would be greatly distressed if anything untoward occurred to anyone under my supervision,” William replied stiffly, adjusting his glasses.

She was debating whether to tease him further when the door opened and Undertaker strolled in. He had cast aside his robe for the trousers and wide-lapelled frock-coat he had worn as a reaper.

“Hello darling,” she said, trying to repress her laughter as William practically stood at attention. “Don’t you look dashing? But you’re frightfully early. Run along for a bit, won’t you? It’s awfully impolite to surprise a lady before she is ready.”

“Grell!” William exclaimed. “Please show some respect! Sir, I do apologize. Grell has no sense of fitness.”

Undertaker caught Grell’s eye and smiled wickedly. “No, it I who should apologize.” He took her hand and kissed it lingeringly. “I could no longer restrain myself from seeing your lovely face.” He produced a wild rose and handed to her with a flourish. “For you, my dear. I shall wait eagerly until you are ready.” He swept from the room.

William began to fold the corner of one of the pages he was carrying and inquired in a studiously casual voice, “So your engagement this evening is with Undertaker?”

“Why yes, dear.” Grell’s hand was over her mouth, trying to contain the laughter that threatened to spill out. “He’s taking me to The Club for supper.”

“The Club!” William choked. “He’s taking _you_ to The Club.”

“Well why not? He is a member.” Suddenly the amusement left her face. “I know you think I’m only fit for one of the seedy Maintenance cafés, but I think I can be trusted not to eat peas off my knife.”

“No! Of course!” he sputtered. “But the Council are members and the Senior Shinigami and – and-“

“I know, dear. Even the Messengers stop by occasionally, they say. Makes you wonder who might be in the back room, doesn’t it?” she grinned. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a gentleman waiting for me and I should like to get ready.”

Closing the door with more force than was necessary behind him, Grell turned to her preparations, trying to ignore the hurt that William’s comment had caused. His opinion of her was very low and somewhat justified by her past behaviour, she knew, but his casual contempt wounded her and it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain her air of flamboyant indifference.

Nervously, she drew on her silk stockings and fastened her garters. It was going to be harder to walk out into the main office dressed like this than to face a pack of demons. But Undertaker had insisted that she dress as she pleased, that she make herself feel as beautiful as she had always longed to. She slipped the red silk dinner gown, overlaid with black lace over her head. Pity she couldn’t have worn a corset, but there was no one to lace it for her. She almost shrieked aloud with laughter at the idea of asking William to assist. But this gown had been chosen partly for the ease with which it could be put on – and removed, she thought with a grin.

There was no time for an elaborate hairdo. She contented herself with braiding her abundant hair and coiling around her head, held in place by many pins, and tucked Undertaker’s rose behind her ear. The Club was no place for garish makeup, but a lady needed a proper maquillage and she attended to her face carefully. Grell slid her feet into a pair of black peau de soie evening pumps and smoothed on her kid gloves. Finally, she caught up her wrap and beaded reticule and, with her head held high, flung open the door and strode into the outer office.

Ronald broke the stunned silence that greeted her appearance. “Senpai! You look – you look-. Bloody hell!” he finally said. “You look gorgeous! If I’d known you looked that good in a dress, I’d have asked you out myself.”

“Oh Ronnie,” she replied with a grin. “You are sweet. But I don’t think I clean up too badly.”

Undertaker crossed the office. “You look lovely, my dear. Doesn’t she, William?”

William flushed and adjusted his glasses nervously. “You look – um, very nice,” he managed to say.

“Really William,” she said, batting her eyes furiously at him. “You’ll turn my head with such flattery.”

Taking Undertaker’s proffered arm, they left the office, not before she heard Ronald say, “I told you, Boss. She’s in love.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“My dear,” Undertaker said as he escorted Grell into the imposing lobby of The Club, “I met an old friend in the Library today. “Would you mind if he joined us for a drink before we dine?”

“Not at all,” she replied absently as she gazed around.

“It is supposed to be an exact replica of White’s in London.”

“It is,” she said quietly, allowing him to take her to the bar and seat her at a tiny table before leading another man to their table.

“Miss Sutcliff,” he said, “allow me to introduce Clarence Harland.”

He sounded so formal, she reflected as she automatically extended her hand and murmured, “How do you do, Mr. Harland.” Sipping her sherry, she tried not to stare at the older man. Like Undertaker, he did not wear spectacles. His green-gold eyes gleamed with the same humour and wisdom. “I take it you are retired. How do you pass your time these days?” Was that proper voice, making polite conversation hers? She sounded like her mother trying to put a guest at ease…

“Clarence has a shop,” Undertaker said.

“A stationer’s shop, in London. Now we have been introduced, you must stop by. It is in Chancery Lane.”

“I should be delighted.” This was ridiculous, she thought and, abandoning all formality, leaned forward and asked, “Do you have any coloured paper or ink? Black and white are so dull. I think I’d like to brighten up William’s day with my next report.”

“For you, Miss Sutcliff, I shall be pleased to find some.”

“Oh please,” she laughed, “call me Grell. Miss Sutcliff sounds like my maiden aunt. I keep looking around for some sour-faced old prune staring at me in disapproval.”

“Now Grell,” Clarence objected, “I’m sure no one could disapprove of you.”

“That’s because you’ve only just met me, dear. Wait and see!” she grinned.

“I shall,” he said with an answering grin as he rose. “It has been a pleasure meeting you.” He made a slight bow and left them.

“You made quite an impression on him,” Undertaker said, as they were led to their table in the dining room.

“Don’t be silly, darling. He was being polite.” She took her seat and pulled off her gloves, laying them across her lap. Without glancing at the menu card, she said, “I’ll have the smoked trout and lamb cutlets.”

“My dear, you haven’t even looked at the menu.”

“It’s what I always had at White’s. It’s bound to be on the menu here. Father always had potted shrimp and roast beef, well-done.” She fell silent and began to worry her lip with her teeth.

“Please don’t do that,” Undertaker said. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Oh! Right,” she said, dabbing at the tiny bead of blood with her handkerchief. “Now, I swore I was going to be good tonight, but you simply must point out all the High and Mighties here to me. I promise not to stare at them.”

“Very well,” he said after the waiter had taken their order. “No doubt, you know the Head Auditor at the table in the corner, but I don’t recognize his companion.”

“I don’t suppose you would. He works in Maintenance,” she giggled at Undertaker’s disapproving expression. “Darling, don’t be an old stick in the mud because he brought a bit of rough trade inside the sacred portals of The Club. After all, you brought _me_. Half the room is staring at us.”

“Because you are the most beautiful woman here.”

“The most infamous, you mean. They’re all wondering what the legendary Undertaker is doing out in public with the shame of the Shinigami.”

“My dear, I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” he sighed.

“Why not? It’s true. Now,” she said, “tell me, who is the lady seated against the wall in the gorgeous purple gown? I must find out who her dressmaker is.” Adroitly, she led the conversation to other topics and deftly sidestepped his questions about her memories of her youth throughout the meal until they were relaxing with coffee and petit-fours.

“Oh! That was a lovely supper,” she said, nibbling on a miniature éclair. “I feel wonderfully spoiled and glamorous. Thank you, darling.”

“I wish I could spoil you more. I wish I could offer you more than a few snatched hours in a dusty old shop,” he murmured.

“There is a great deal more you can offer me.” She could feel herself growing warm. “My flat isn’t very far from here.”

Moments of complete happiness were very rare, Grell knew, but the speed with which Undertaker called for and signed the bill and his endearing clumsiness as he assisted her in donning her wrap filled her heart to bursting. Who could have imagined that walking in the chill evening air, her hand tucked in his elbow, her cheek resting against his arm would make her eyes prick with sudden tears of joy?

“What a perfect evening,” she sighed as, with trembling fingers, she fumbled to unlock the door to her flat. “I wish it might never end.”

“My dear,” Undertaker whispered, his fingers closing over hers to turn the key, “it is just beginning.”


	2. Chapter 2

The living area and kitchen of Grell’s flat was tiny and elegantly furnished. Surprisingly so, Undertaker thought as he watched her kick off her shoes and discard her wrap.

“I suppose you were expecting something approaching a brothel,” she said with a grin. “William stopped by to drop off some paperwork once. He seemed positively disappointed that it didn’t look like some opium den. Of course, he ran for his life when I offered to show him the bedroom.”

She insisted on treating William’s attitude towards her as a great source of amusement, but he could see the pain flicker across her face. William could have been kinder to her, could have rebuffed her early advances more gently. No wonder her confusion and hurt had turned to savage anger and brutal joy in the spilling of blood.

“Would you care for a brandy?” Her voice interrupted his thoughts. “I could use a small one myself,” she said, pulling a bottle down from a shelf in the kitchen. “And I simply must take down my hair. I swear I have a hundred hairpins sticking directly into my skull.”

She handed him a glass and disappeared into the bedroom. “Take off that coat, dear,” she said through the open door. “You look ever so handsome in it. I suppose the secretaries were all drooling over you while you were waiting for me.”

“I didn’t notice,” he called back. “I was too busy trying to think of a tactful reply to William. He asked me to speak at the next trainee graduation ceremony.” He shuddered. “I’d rather cut my throat with my own Death Scythe.”

She burst out laughing. “You couldn’t possibly be worse than the fellow who spoke at ours. I think he was from Auditing. William whacked me twice with his trainee Scythe because I kept nodding off. Do you remember who spoke at yours? Ronnie said-“

Completely familiar, by now, with Grell’s tendency to chatter when she was anxious, Undertaker put aside his glass, tapped on her open door and asked, “May I come in?”

“Of course, darling. I didn’t mean to be rude, leaving you out there all alone. It’s just that my hair is being most uncooperative.” She had unpinned her hair and was nervously pulling her fingers through the thick plait.

“Allow me,” he said softly, threading his own fingers into the braid and gently untangling her long hair. “You have such beautiful hair: so wild and vibrant and full of life. Just like you.” He picked up a silver-backed brush from her dressing table and began to smooth her unruly locks as she tipped her head back and groaned with pleasure.

“Mmmm, that feels wonderful,” she sighed, “but you must stop or I shall fall asleep.”

Undertaker deliberately laid down the hairbrush and pulled of his tie. He released his collar stud and opened several buttons on his shirt. “We can’t have that,” he whispered, sweeping her masses of hair over her shoulder and pressing his mouth to her neck. Her skin was so fair, almost translucent, he thought. He could see the rise and fall of her chest and feel the pulse in her throat against his caressing lips. She smelled of roses and tasted like honey.

He traced her collarbones with his nails, but when he attempted to insinuate his fingers below the neckline of her gown, she caught his hands in hers. Seeing the apprehension in her face, he sought to reassure her. “My dear,” he said gently, “you are the loveliest _woman_ ,” the last word was said with subtle emphasis, “I know. Would you allow me to show you how truly I believe this?”

Grell nodded slowly and released his hands and turned to face him. He reached behind her, unfastening the buttons of dress and pushed it down gently to her waist. She dropped her head, allowing her hair to fall forward and hunched her shoulders. He could tell she was longing to cross her arms over her chest and drew her up. The gown slid past her slender hips to fall in a silken puddle at her feet. Clad only in her stockings, garters and undergarment, she stood before him, her hands clasped protectively in front of her loins.

“You are exquisite,” he murmured. “You are ivory and pink, tipped with the most delicate rosebuds.” His fingers brushed gently against her nipples which hardened to taut peaks at his touch. Shrugging off his shirt, he gathered her into his arms.

Grell’s lips were soft and yielding and she tasted faintly of the brandy she had drunk earlier. Mindful of her teeth, Undertaker delicately probed her mouth with his tongue. As hers reached out to meet his, he deepened the kiss, gently opening her mouth wider to receive his hungry kisses. She responded avidly, but, he noticed, she held her hips away from him, allowing no contact between their lower bodies.

Suddenly she broke away. “I think you are wearing entirely too much clothing,” she said with a grin.

“I have to agree,” he replied as he opened his flies.

As his trousers slipped to the floor, she nudged him gently to sit on the pink-striped chaise lounge at the end of her bed and sank to her knees, drawing off his shoes.

“My dear, please don’t kneel in front of me like that,” he whispered.

“Why not?” she asked, pulling off his socks. “You have treated me with nothing but kindness since the day we met.” She raised her huge eyes to his face.

“I did call you a most unsatisfactory corpse once,” he chuckled.

“And I attempted to strangle you and stuffed you into a pot of salt,” she giggled. “Why on earth did you let me?”

“Because I hadn’t been so amused in a long time” He took her chin between his fingers. “Because you are wild and fierce and bold and I love you for it.”

Grell rested her forehead against his thigh. “That day in the Library, William said I should be on my knees before you; he was right. You make me feel beautiful and wanted and for that alone I will love you until the end of my life. You have never viewed me as a freak or an appalling mistake of nature and when I’m with you I can almost believe that I am not.”

Undertaker stroked her hair gently. She struggled under the burden of such pain and loneliness and confusion. “As I told you before, you are as the Higher Up made you and, therefore, perfect. You have never been anything but that to me.”

She stood abruptly. “I know when you say these things you mean them, but see for yourself.” She pulled down her undergarment. “I’m wrong. It’s hideous.”

He rose and pushed down his own drawers. “Am I hideous to you?”

“Of course not!” she cried. “It’s beautiful; it’s part of you.”

“And this,” he said, slowly smoothing his palm along her length, “is beautiful because it is part of you.”

He scooped her into his arms and carried her effortlessly to the bed, laying her on the rose-spattered counterpane. Lying down beside her, he took her hand and rested it against himself. “Does that feel as though I found you anything but desirable?” As she shook her head, he continued, “Then let us hear no more about it.”

Grell knelt between his legs and pushed his hair from his face. “Do you remember what I said that day in the Library?”

“You called me a dreary old man,” he replied with a grin.

“No silly!” She swatted him playfully on the chest.

“You flung your arms around me and begged me to embrace you. Best offer I’d had in centuries. If William and the others hadn’t been there…”

“Good thing they were,” she giggled. “Imagine the scandal if we had been caught.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Remind me, sometime, to tell you about the time William’s predecessor was found in there with two secretaries.”

“Gracious!” she laughed. “Maybe we should slip in there sometime.”

Relieved that she was relaxed and laughing at last, Undertaker threaded his fingers through her hair and brought her face close to his, capturing her mouth. This time there was no hesitance as she melted against him, returning his kisses eagerly.

Grell began to kiss his neck and the length of his collar bone. As her mouth moved across his chest, seeking his scars and pressing her lips against them, he could feel an occasional scrape of her teeth, but he was lost from the warmth of her mouth. He could feel the sensuous whisper of her stockings against his legs and the silken fall of her hair caressed him.

She nipped at the skin of his inner thigh and her tongue reached out to stroke his length. “You’re not worried, are you darling?” she asked, baring her teeth for an instant.

He saw the shadows in her eyes and wondered what unkindness and cruelty she had endured in the past. “Not at all,” he answered, stroking her cheek.

And then her mouth was on him and he was enclosed by velvet heat. She teased him skillfully with quick darts of her tongue and tormented him with slow, lapping strokes until tendrils of fiery bliss crept from his loins and through his belly to engulf him in a haze of ecstasy. He propped himself up on his elbows and peered down at her to see her limpid eyes fixed anxiously on his face.

“My dearest, you must stop,” he said, “or I shall be done when we have barely begun.”

He drew her up to lie on a heap of lace-trimmed pillows, tracing her features with his fingertips. Her cheeks were flushed with passion, her mouth was partly open and her lips trembled slightly. A quick glance down told him she was as aroused as he was, but, he finally admitted to himself, he was at a loss how to proceed. She was still nervous and insecure, he could tell – as skittish as a wild colt – and he knew he had to lead her gently.

Finally, he spoke, “You must tell me what would make you happy.”

“Good heavens! Why, anything you’d like.” Suddenly her smile became menacing. “I can take it.”

No doubt she could and had, but, with a moment of insight, he knew what she wanted: to feel cherished and feminine. “Then I want to kiss you until every inch of your body is flushed the same adorable pink as your cheeks,” he said. “I want to feel your heart against mine when you cry out. I want to hold you close and fill you with my love.”

She was so soft and tasted so sweet, he thought as he suckled her bud-like nipples. Her quiet moans and sighs filled his ears. She was so yielding and pliant in his arms, so different from the fierce, flamboyant crimson reaper he had encountered. And yet, the vulnerable heart she hid so well beneath the armour of her red coat and shocking behaviour made her lovable to him. He adored her wildness and refusal to bow to convention; he gloried in her outrageousness. She filled his black and melancholy world with vivid life and colour, but her lonely and wounded soul had found a place in his own empty heart.

His lips lingered on the tender flesh of her inner thigh as he untied the black and red ribbons of her garter and rolled her stocking slowly down her leg, covering every inch of skin with kisses as it was exposed. He found unanticipated sources of pleasure for her as she cried out with delight when his tongue flickered against the back of her knee and caressed her ankle and unexpected merriment when she collapsed into giggles as he nibbled her toes.

Stripping off her other stocking, Undertaker pressed his lips against her instep. She was so lovely and disarming sprawled before him. Her wild hair fanned out about her, spilling over the edge of the bed, almost reaching the floor. She had flung her slim arms over her head, crossing her hands at the wrist to clasp the red velvet upholstered headboard. She was rosy with passion, her willowy torso blushing from his kisses. She appeared so slender and fragile, but he knew her to be immensely strong – able to wield her heavy Death Scythe with ease.

He continued to kiss her until he reached her groin. She was fully erect, surrounded by dark red curls, but, glancing at her face, he caught a flicker of uneasiness and understood that she did not want caresses such as she had given him. Instead, he gently smoothed his palm down her length. With careful, slow strokes, he maintained a steady friction. As her hips rose to meet his hand, he increased his speed, but took care never to grasp hold off her. With the heel of his hand, he massaged the tiny ridge below the head while his fingers sought the sensitive patch of flesh behind the sack. She was panting lightly and moaning softly, but, suddenly, she stayed his hand.

“Please darling,” she whispered. “Fill me.”

“Do you have anything?” he asked, casting a quick look around the room. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You needn’t bother,” she mumbled. “I’ll be quite all right.”

A rising tide of anger filled him. What sort of partners had she had in the past? What kind of encounters had led her to believe that she deserved no consideration?

He moved up the bed so his face was level with hers. “Well, _I_ will not be all right. I love you, Grell, and I will never knowingly hurt you. If you have nothing, we shall continue as we were for tonight.”

Flushing a deeper pink, she climbed from the bed and rummaged in her dressing table drawer for a moment, returning with a small bottle of oil and a polished wooden cylinder that tapered to a smooth head. “Really! Such a fuss,” she laughed nervously, ducking her head with embarrassment and handing him a folded sheet of towelling.

He suspected these items were reserved for when she was alone as he carefully anointed the wooden object. “I am going to be as careful as I can,” he said. “You are to tell me if I hurt you at all.” Suddenly, he pinned her hands to the bed and looked deep into her eyes. “If I think you are lying to me, I shall be very angry. Do you understand?”

Undertaker waited for her flippant response, but she nodded and freed her hands, wrapping her arms around his neck. For the first time, Grell pressed her groin against his, twining her legs around his own. And he understood that she was finally ready to give herself to him completely.

Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he drew her legs up over his shoulders and deliberately licked the crease between her buttocks. With his tongue, he began a slow exploration of her puckered opening, lapping against it with slow, purposeful strokes until she was squirming and gasping. He slipped the towel beneath her hips and lowered her to dribble the oil, mindful of his nails as he rubbed it over her entrance. Taking up the cylinder, which was slightly thicker than one of his own fingers, he gently pushed it in, watching her face all the while.

Grell’s eyes widened and she caught her breath, but she seemed to experience no distress as he began to move it slowly. He slipped his other arm beneath her shoulders to cradle her in his embrace; her eyes were huge, fixed on his face, shining with love – and trust. When her hips began to move he increased his speed, seeing nothing but pleasure in her face. “Please!” she begged. “Give me more!”

Removing the object with great care, he knelt between her legs and oiled two of his fingers thickly. “Remember your promise,” he warned her. As she nodded, he very slowly slid in his two fingers. They moved easily up to the second knuckle when she gave a start.

“Just a little jab, darling,” she said. “I’m all right. Really.”

Cautiously, he pushed further until his fingers were completely inside of her and slowly began to scissor them. He could see some discomfort in her face, but no real pain as he felt her relax and open to him. He dared not push his fingers any further, but a careful prod drew a most unexpected reaction and she cried out and thrust her groin towards him.

“Oh! Do that again!” she cried.

He obliged as she moaned and clawed at the bedcover, straining towards him. She was beginning to glisten with a light sheen of sweat. Her hair clung to her forehead and cheeks in damp tendrils and he could see pearly drops forming at the tip of her arousal. Resting his hand on it, he felt her twitch and throb and knew she was ready.

Withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on the towel, he took up the oil and tipped the bottle liberally over himself before pouring more between her buttocks. Poised at her entrance, he pressed forward slowly. There was a moment of resistance and his head slipped in. Undertaker grasped Grell’s hips and continued to push until he was fully seated and surrounded by her warmth and tightness.

“Am I hurting you?” he muttered.

“Only in a good way,” she insisted as she rose to meet him.

He was wrapped in velvet, surrounded by enveloping heat that engulfed him in a fiery blaze. Gathering Grell into his arms, he lifted her to hold her close against him and sought her lips. Her moans were lost in his kisses as she rose and fell with him. His silver hair fell forward to mingle with her dark red, veiling their bodies. He could feel Grell’s hardness against his belly and drew her closer to trap it between them.

She was close, he could tell. She pressed urgently against him, straining to gain her pleasure, moving more quickly. Her soft cries filled his ears; he could feel her nails digging into his shoulders and he could taste his own blood as her teeth grazed his lip. Suddenly, she arched her back and cried out. Carefully angling his hips, he drove deeper and heard her gasp, taking hold of her haunches while she hung on around his neck. She was writhing against him, meeting his every thrust, her head thrown back.

Undertaker buried his face in her neck, inhaling her fragrance. His senses were reeling; he was blinded by the sweat running in his eyes and could hear his blood, thundering in his veins. He was light-headed with passion and dangerously near losing control when he felt his belly and chest become wet with Grell’s essence and she slumped against him. She pulsed and throbbed around him and, with a low groan, he surrendered himself to her.

He held her close, stroking her hair as their heartbeats and breathing slowed down and, finally, eased away gently, lowering her to lie on the bed before collapsing next to her.

“Oh my darling,” she whispered, tracing the scar on his face with her fingertips, “thank you.” Her green-gold eyes shone with tears.

Shocked by how moved he had been by the experience, Undertaker gently thumbed her tears away. “Dearest Grell,” he murmured, “my wild rose.”

“A bit prickly, from the looks of things,” she said dabbing her finger against the spot of blood on his lip.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way: wild and fierce and very, very sweet.” He brushed a soft kiss against her brow.

“I’m not so sure about that last part, darling,” she laughed as climbed from the bed and padded across the room to slip behind a toile de Jouy-covered screen, “but don’t let that stop you.”

She reappeared a few minutes later wearing a red silk peignoir and carrying a moist cloth, which she used to clean him up.

“I think I could get used to having you tend to me all the time,” he chuckled as she whisked away the towel and other items.

Growing serious, she sat on the bed and took his hand. “I told you back in your shop that day that all I ever wanted was someone to look after. Even when I was very young…” her voice trailed off.

“My dear, we both know that you remember a great deal more than you would have people know, so please tell me what you were thinking.”

“It just that-“ Suddenly, her eyes went blank and she gasped and pressed her hand against her chest.

“What is it?” he exclaimed, taking her by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “How strange! The memory was there and then it was gone. Just like that. How odd! But then I’m odd enough, so nothing should surprise me,” she said with a forced laugh.

“You looked like you were in pain.”

“Just a sudden pang. Too much rich food at supper, no doubt.”

He was deeply concerned. “I think you need to talk to someone. This is very disturbing.”

“Don’t be silly, darling,” she insisted, her expression becoming hard. “It would just give William an excuse to transfer me to Maintenance or send me to the Asylum.”

“Who told you about the Asylum?” he demanded. “Almost no one even knows of its existence.”

“Not if you’ve been labelled a troublemaker and threatened with culling from almost the first day of your training,” she snapped. “There’s always someone to tell you what might happen. William positively delights in predicting that’s where I’ll end out.”

“You know, I am beginning to take a serious dislike to William.” How could he frighten and threaten her like that, he wondered. “Maybe I should pay him a visit.”

“Oh please! Don’t be foolish. You’re making a great fuss about nothing. And people think I’m melodramatic!” She began to turn down the bed and firmly changed the subject “Please say you can stay the night.”

“Of course,” he said, bowing to her unwillingness to continue the discussion, “but I shall have to leave quite early. I currently have some guests.”

“Anyone I might know?’ she asked, turning of the lamp, setting her glasses aside and climbing into the bed.

Undertaker slipped between the lavender scented sheets and pillowed her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think so. I’m fairly familiar with your work.”

“Of course you are.” She was silent for a moment. “Did you make her look beautiful?”

“Who?”

“Madam Red.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad,” she said quietly.

“They laid her out in white. The boy draped her in red. He did love her, you know.”

“ _I_ loved her,” Grell whispered fiercely.

“I know you did, my love.” He stroked her hair as she nestled closer to him.

“My love!” she sighed happily. “I do adore you so.” She began to yawn. “I’m going to ask William if I can’t have some jobs around London. I’ve been very good lately, except…”

“Except what, you minx?”

“I decorated everyone’s Scythes with pink and red streamers for Valentine’s Day a few days ago.”

Undertaker rocked with silent laughter. “And I suppose it was you, who sent flowers to all the secretaries in the office.”

“Why not?” she sniffed. “Someone there should remember how to treat a lady. It didn’t seem right that there would be one or two who would get a half-dozen bunches and a few who would get nothing. But, for pity’s sake, don’t say a word about it. Everyone suspects Ronald.”

He didn’t ask if she had received any; he knew the answer. “I would fill your office with flowers, but…”

“Everyone would think you had stolen them from your guests. Ronnie did give me a box of chocolates, but he ate most of them himself.” She yawned again and laid her hand on his chest.

Her quiet breathing told him she was drifting into sleep. His visit to the Library that day had frustrated and disquieted him as he searched for answers with Clarence’s aid. The older man was still considering his request. He was glad that she seemed to have one ally in her workplace; she was going to need as many as possible in what could be a battle for her very soul.


	3. Chapter 3

_February 20, 1890_

Grell was seated at her desk, staring dreamily into space, the following morning when William walked in.

“I have your jobs for the next few days,” he said, handing her a thick folder.

She glanced at the list and sighed – all over the farthest reaches of Britain: a shipwreck off the Cornish coast, a fire in a woolen mill in Yorkshire and one natural death in the Orkney Islands.

“Is there any chance – that is – do you think I might get a few assignments closer to London?” she asked, flushing pink.

William seemed to be very interested in the shine of his shoes as he asked, “Did you have an enjoyable evening?”

“Oh! It was wonderful!” she enthused, her happiness overflowing. “We had such a lovely supper and we had a drink with an old friend of his before. Such a dear, he was. Such a charming man.”

“And I suppose you flirted and carried on and generally made a fool of yourself, as usual?”

Wounded by William’s hostility, her bubble of joy burst. “I know you have a pretty low opinion of me,” she said, just managing to keep her voice steady, “and I know I deserve most of it, but why must you be so unkind?” She grasped his wrist and looked up at him imploringly.

Still refusing to meet her eyes, he jerked his hand away. “It beggars all belief that Undertaker could be enamoured with the likes of you,” he muttered.

“Is it that hard to believe that someone might care about me?” she cried, her voice rising. “Do I revolt you that much?”

His face had flushed a mottled red. “No one should love a freak like you.”

“What did you just say?” she shrieked, bouncing up from her chair to force him to look her in the eye.

He slammed his hands down on her desk and hissed into her face, “You’re a disgrace to the Dispatch. Prancing out of here last night all tarted up like a common whore.”

“What did you just call me? Grell screamed, launching herself at him with such force that she hurled him to the ground, sending his spectacles flying across the room. A red haze of rage, such as she hadn’t felt since the night she killed Madam Red, enveloped her and she wrapped her hands around William’s neck and sank her teeth into his face.

William cried out in pain and his Death Scythe appeared in his hand, but Grell’s knee was resting on his elbow and she knocked it aside easily.

“How dare you?’ she screeched, leaping to her feet to summon her Death Scythe and, holding it against William’s throat, bring it roaring to life.

XXXXXXXXXX

It took four men to pull Grell off William and get her Scythe away from her. Still shrieking with rage, she lashed out with her fists and feet and teeth until a well-aimed blow to the head rendered her temporarily senseless.

Others retrieved William’s spectacles and helped him to his feet.

“You need to get to the Infirmary, Boss,” Ronald said. “And what about her?” He gestured to the unconscious figure. “Security is on the way.”

“I don’t care,” William croaked, dabbing the wound on his cheek with a handkerchief. “Just get him out of my sight.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Grell came around in a holding cell in the bowels of the Dispatch building. Her head ached abominably, her spectacles were gone and she could see nothing and she was wretchedly thirsty. Curling herself into a tight ball on the cot, she waited.

She wondered vaguely what they would do to her; every story she had heard as a trainee and every whispered rumour of what became of the unfit came back to haunt her.

_“Where’s Jonah?” she whispered._

_It was their third month of training and the sullen, darkly handsome trainee had not appeared._

_“Don’t you know anything?’ William sneered. “He was deemed Unsuitable and culled.”_

_Grell hadn’t liked Jonah – none of them had – and he had certainly disliked her, but she was shaken by the news. “What will happen to him?”_

_“You really don’t know anything, do you?” And, putting his mouth close to her ear, he told her._

_She had stormed out of the classroom in a panic. Already knowing how much she didn’t fit in, already warned that her future as a reaper was questionable, already aware that she was singular in her memories of her previous existence and already hideously afraid, she fled to the Library, blindly seeking answers._

_None of the clerks could help her; the best answer she received was that such records were in the keeping of the Head Librarian and trainees were never permitted access. Running down the corridor, she rudely shoved past a silver-haired figure, engulfed in black robes._

_“Why in such a hurry, my dear?’ he chuckled. “You have an eternity.”_

_She turned to glare at the old lunatic who laughed even harder and pounded at the Head Librarian’s office door._

She had received another black mark for insubordination when she lost her temper in his office, but returned to her classes grimly determined to graduate. She excelled in combat, learned to pour her anger and fear into an outrageous, savage joy in the shedding of blood and developed a flamboyant persona that repelled her colleagues and deflected close investigation of her real self.

Two or three other trainees disappeared during her course; she refused to speculate about their fates. Eventually, she discovered that they had been transferred to other departments when it had been decided that they were not suited to be reapers, but she never learned what happened to Jonah.

Three burly men entered the cell. She put up no resistance as they shackled her wrists and ankles. One of them yanked her hair painfully, pulling her head back as another fastened a mask-like muzzle over the lower half of her face. They hauled her down the corridor, laughing when she fell, hobbled as she was, and shoved her into a transport vehicle.

The journey wasn’t long as she strained to listen to her escorts speculating about her fate.

“All that pretty hair,” one said. “He’ll be the most popular girl in the place.”

Another replied, “From what I’ve heard, he’ll probably like it and even if he doesn’t…”

“Once they do something about those teeth.”

Show no fear, she told herself sternly and hissed at them, letting out a series of high-pitched giggles as they reared back.

They had arrived. Her guards dragged her through a heavy door that shut with an unnerving clang behind her. After the dimness of her cell, and the dark of the transport, the bright lights were blinding. Forcing herself not to squint, she could make out a man wearing doctor’s garb, carrying a large syringe.

“Agent Sutcliff,” he said, “we’ve been expecting you for a long time.”

XXXXXXXXX

_February 23, 1890_

Ronald was worried. It had been three days since the incident in Grell’s office. A curt memo had been circulated the day before stating that a hearing regarding the matter would take place in two days; all gossip and speculation was to cease.

The office wasn’t the same without Grell. He knew she was generally disliked, but she had been a generous and kind mentor to him and had saved his skin on more than one occasion. The hearing concerned him; there would be no one to speak on her behalf, he knew. He wondered if he dared; he didn’t want to become William’s enemy.

William had returned to the office the day after the altercation, more forbidding and stern than ever. But he had gone into Grell’s office and retrieved her red coat and spectacles and asked Ronald to keep them safe. He had caught him lingering outside her door with an unreadable expression on his face and, finally, summoned the courage to act.

London was enjoying an unusually balmy stretch of weather when he arrived at Undertaker’s shop. The silver-haired reaper seemed surprised to see him, but sipped his tea imperturbably.

“Mr. Knox,” he said, “this is a most unexpected visit.” Suddenly his smile faded. “Is Grell all right? Is she hurt?”

“No sir,” Ronald burst out, “she isn’t all right. She got into a dreadful fight with William three days past.”

“How?” He shoved aside his mug of tea and grabbed the young reaper by his tie. “Tell me! What happened?”

“Well sir,” he replied, freeing himself from Undertaker’s grasp with some difficulty, “William was in her office. You couldn’t hear what they were saying until she started screaming at him. Then there was an awful crash and William let out a terrible shout. She was shrieking all the while and next thing you could hear her Scythe starting up. It happened so quickly. By the time we got in there, she was standing over him with her Scythe at his throat.”

Undertaker blanched, but spoke quietly. “What happened after that?”

“It took three or four of us to pull her away. She was wild: screeching and kicking and trying to bite. They finally knocked her out cold. Then Security took her away.”

“And William? How is he?”

“All right, I guess. She bit him something dreadful on the face; it’s mostly healed now, but she didn’t actually use her Scythe on him.”

Relieved to hear that, he locked the door to the shop and pulled down the blinds. “Where is Grell now?”

“I don’t know. She was in the cell in the Dispatch, but she’s gone now. There’s to be a hearing in two days. Do you think it would help if I offered to speak for her?”

“I don’t know, but it is very kind of you to suggest it.”

“Not really, sir” he said, turning slightly pink. “I know most of the others don’t like her much, but she’s always been good to me. And there’s no real harm in her; she’s just a bit – dramatic. If she had really wanted to hurt William, he would have been gone by the time we got in her office. I just thought it might help if I mentioned these things at the hearing.”

“No,” he stated firmly, “you are kind. Speaking for her could harm your own career, you know.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “If I rose through the ranks, I might end out as stuffy and dull as William.” He managed a cheeky grin.

Undertaker smiled faintly. “I don’t think there is much chance of that.” He took hold of the other man’s arm. “Come Ronald, we have a visit to pay.” He opened a portal and they vanished.

William was standing behind his desk, absent-mindedly fingering the bright pink scar on his cheek when he appeared. Before he could react, Undertaker’s Scythe swung in a flash of silver, missing his throat by a hair and pinning his wrist to the wall.

“William, my dear,” he said. “We need to have a chat.”

XXXXXXXXXX

_February 25, 1890_

The hearing room was located on the ground floor of the Administration building. Undertaker knew that the Council chambers were several storeys higher in the same building. Hearings were not open to the public, but no one dared stop him from entering when he swept in, clad in his reaper’s frock coat and trousers. He had even signed out his spectacles for the occasion. Under other circumstances, he would have enjoyed the ripple of whispers his appearance caused.

He spied Ronald in the back of the room. The young reaper had remained determined that he would speak on Grell’s behalf, if necessary, and his easy charm had gotten them past a barrage of secretaries, allowing him access to information about her case. He had been relieved to see she had been appointed a competent advocate and her judge was to be a Council member who had graduated one class below his own and was known to be fair, but the Shinigami prided themselves on being a civilized people. He was continually amazed that they allowed an abomination such as the Asylum to exist.

Grell was being led to the prisoner’s box. He clenched his fists at the sight of her, shuffling across the room, shackled at her wrists and ankles and muzzled. But her head was held high and she glared defiantly about her. A little humility would probably serve her better, he thought, but he knew his proud and prickly wild rose would remain unbowed until the end.

William sat behind the prosecutor; the scar on his cheek was almost entirely faded now. His expression was stoic, but Undertaker noticed a flicker of emotion when Grell appeared. The opening proceedings mirrored those of the human world: they rose at the judge’s appearance, took their seats at his bidding and the charges were read.

Grell’s advocate approached the bench. “Sir, Agent Sutcliff denies none of the charges against him, but there are extenuating circumstances. His Supervisor, William T. Spears, has asked permission to speak.”

“Very well,” the judge nodded.

William rose, cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Agent Sutcliff’s attack upon myself, although unnecessarily violent, was the result of extreme provocation.” He sounded as if he were reciting a lesson, but his tone softened when he turned his gaze on Grell. “I made unwarranted comments of a very personal and insulting nature, which I deeply regret. I would ask that the criminal charges in this matter be dropped and that discipline come under the jurisdiction of Dispatch. Furthermore, I should like to take this opportunity to tender my most sincere apologies to Agent Sutcliff for having made such remarks.”

A current of whispers circulated around the room as the prosecutor stood. “Be that as it may, Agent Sutcliff is a known troublemaker with a history of erratic and violent behaviour. Even during his brief incarceration there were several incidents. Seven inmates have required medical attention; three were severely injured.”

“All of which were in self defense,” the advocate interrupted. “Agent Sutcliff was placed among the most hardened prisoners before a hearing to determine his guilt. He was housed in the most appalling conditions, surrounded by inmates who have degenerated to the feral-“

The judge banged his gavel. “Sir, this is not the time or place to discuss correctional reform, but a grave injustice was done if the accused was treated thus before his hearing.” He turned to the prosecutor and continued, “And Agent Sutcliff’s history is not the concern of this hearing.”

“With respect, sir,” the prosecutor insisted, “Sutcliff is known to be dangerous and unstable. He attacked his supervisor with extreme violence and will continue to be threat to the safety of those around him. He should be removed from the Dispatch and remanded to the Asylum in the interests of the welfare of the Shinigami.”

“Thank you, both of you,” the judge said to the advocate and prosecutor. “I shall take all I have heard under advisement and return shortly with my decision.”

After his exit, a rumble of low conversation could be heard throughout the room. Grell stood motionless, her fists clenched, her expression wavering only for a moment when Ronald caught her eye and attempted a reassuring smile. Undertaker watched William fidget uncharacteristically with a button on his jacket as he stared straight ahead. He could see that from a slight working of her cheek above the muzzle that Grell was chewing on her lip. Don’t do that, my darling, he thought, even as he watched the blood trickle down her neck.

Why did these official rooms always seem so stuffy and airless? It felt like hours, but was only a very short time before the judge reappeared.

“I have read a statement taken by the accused’s advocate and have taken into consideration the remarks of Supervisor Spears,” he said. “I have also read reports of the incidents in the Asylum and believe Agent Sutcliff was acting in self defense. Since the injured party is willing to drop the charge, I have decided that Agent Sutcliff is to be released and further disciplinary action will be at the discretion of Dispatch.” He faced Grell and spoke sternly. “There is a certain amount of merit in the recommendations of the prosecutor, but the interests of justice would not be served in following them at this time. I will warn you, however, to expect no such lenience if I see you again.” He banged his gavel and left the room.

Undertaker leapt from his seat and strode to the prisoner’s box. “Get that thing off her at once!” he hissed at the guard.

As the guard hastened to obey, a low-pitched murmur went around the room when Grell’s ragged and bloodied lips were revealed. The muzzle had left deep angry red welts across her cheeks and jaw, almost obscuring the dark contusions. Livid bruises surrounded her wrists, he saw when the shackles were removed.

“Come, my dear,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll take you back to your flat.” He was fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe the blood from her chin and neck when one was pressed into his hand.

As Undertaker dabbed at her chin, trying to avoid getting blood on the W.T.S. monogram, William spoke. “Grell,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

She held his gaze for a long moment and said, “So am I.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Grell was silent during the journey back to her flat, saying almost nothing until they were inside. She had removed her shoes and was peering at them with some difficulty when Undertaker handed her spectacles to her.

“Oh thank Heavens!” she croaked. Her voice was raspy and harsh. “I thought they had been broken and goodness knows when I would be allowed to see Pops for another pair. It was quite a surprise to see you wearing yours. You know I’ve only seen you with them the one time before. You look quite distinguished and-“

“My dear,” he interrupted, “perhaps you should get some rest.”

“Oh! Of course. In a bit.” She prowled restlessly around the small room, stretching her arms. “What a relief to be rid of those beastly shackles. I was feeling quite cramped up. And thank goodness I was allowed to wear my own clothes at the hearing. You should have seen the dreary thing that had me in. I could never have faced the judge and the rest dressed like that…”

He listened to her prattle in an artificially cheerful voice as if she were discussing the weather while she bustled about her kitchen.

“Now, I’m going to make a nice pot of tea. Would you care for some, darling? I’ve been dying for a cup. I have some lovely shortbread about here somewhere. Do you like shortbread? I adore it, but I’ve only ever seen you eat those funny biscuits of yours. Not that they aren’t delicious and I still think you’re very unkind for refusing to share your receipt, but-“

And she was off again, apologizing that she had no food in the kitchen, but she’d pop out to the shop in a bit, complaining that the neck cord of her spectacles was broken, but she was sure she had another and fussing about a missing button on her shirt. “And I smell appalling. You have been very sweet not to have complained about it, but I suppose you’re used to all sorts of funny smells.”

Her hands were trembling as she opened the shortbread tin and the biscuits slipped from her fingers to fall onto the floor.

“Damn!” she muttered, falling to her knees, “I’ve broken the last of them.”

She was fussily trying to pick up all the crumbs when Undertaker squatted next to her. “Grell! Please stop this!”

“But I dreadfully wanted a cup of tea,” she said in a small voice.

“Go sit down and I shall bring it to you.”

“All right, darling, but I’m so embarrassed not to have anything to offer you. I feel like such a terrible hostess.” She began to ramble again as she sat in a Regency-striped wing chair. “I had such nice plans for the next time you were here. There is a shop nearby that sells the most delicious meat pies. The man will decorate them for you however you like. You should have seen his face when I asked if I could get a coffin on one.” She picked up her tea and sipped it, wincing when the hot liquid made contact with her torn lips. “Oh dear! I do have some salve on my dressing table.”

“Then allow me to fetch it and I shall draw you a bath. Once you have finished your tea, you can clean up and have a rest.” He pushed his hair back and removed his spectacles. “You can’t refuse me when I do this,” he said, smiling at her, “and I did promise to strip you down and tend to you when I was ill.”

“Beast!” she giggled, sounding like her old self for the first time. “You know I’ll do anything when you do that.”

He found the tiny jar and handed to her and, casting off his jacket and tie and rolling up his sleeves, filled her slipper tub with warm water. When he returned to the other room she was almost asleep, her chin resting on her palm with her elbow leaning on the arm of the chair. He knelt beside her and gently untied her striped neck ribbon and pulled it off.

“Oh dear,” she mumbled. “I’m so sleepy all of a sudden.”

“Don’t worry about it, my dear.” He opened the buttons on her waistcoat and shirt. “I have plenty of experience undressing and washing those who are unable to do it themselves.”

“What a morbid comparison to make,” she muttered, but offered no resistance as he stripped her off and carried her to the tub.

It was just as well that she was so sleepy, he thought, for his face must have betrayed him when he saw the welts that covered her, the hand-shaped bruises on her haunches and the bite on her shoulder and he grew sick, knowing what it signified. She groaned with relief as he placed her in the warm water and soaped her as gently as possible. He couldn’t help it; his hand lingered for a moment over the tooth marks and she went stiff.

“They tried. I fought. They didn’t succeed.” She turned her head to face him and bared her teeth in a terrifying grin. “Most of them had been there for years, eating swill. I’m strong and healthy and trained in combat. Deadly efficient, you know.” Her eyes glittered dangerously and she lifted her hand to her mouth in a gesture he remembered seeing when she taunted Sebastian as her tongue poked out.

“But it must have been a dreadful experience, even so,” he insisted, pouring water from a jug over her head so he could wash her hair.

“Horrid,” she said shortly. “I’d rather not discuss it. But it was almost worth it to be pampered like this afterwards,” she added, sighing with pleasure as massaged her scalp and worked the soap through her hair.

“It is no more than you deserve, my dear. Pity your tub is so small, but mine, back at the shop, is quite large,” he grinned, pouring another jug of water carefully over her head to rinse out the suds.

“I noticed, but – um, you don’t use it for your guests, do you?”

He burst out laughing at her wary expression. “No, I do not. I promise you I have other facilities for them.”

“Thank Heavens,” she giggled, allowing him to help her step out of the tub and wrap her in a towel. “That would be entirely too macabre.”

“Even for me,” he agreed.

She retreated to her bedroom and when he joined her she was sitting at her dressing table, wrapped in a red and gold printed merino wool peignoir, drawing a wide-toothed comb through the snarls in her hair. He took a seat on her chaise lounge and watched her as she examined her face anxiously in the mirror.

“Oh dear,” she complained, “I am a mess. I hope these bruises fade soon.” She rubbed the welts from the muzzle impatiently.

“I am sure they will. William’s face is almost completely healed. When I saw him two days ago, the scar was-“

“You went to see William?” She whirled to face him.

“Yes. Ronald came to see me. He was wild with worry about you,” he exclaimed desperately as she flushed an angry red.

“So, I suppose you frightened him into withdrawing the charge,” she said quietly.

“I – um, had to force him to listen to me at first,” he admitted.

Tears began to slip down her face. “I know you meant well and I love you for it,” she said, “but don’t you see? I thought he really meant it when he apologized today. I thought he was truly sorry for those ghastly things he said to me.” She covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

Undertaker scooped her up and settled her in his lap, holding her while she wept. She raised her tear-stained face to his. “I don’t love him anymore. I haven’t for a long time and I know he’ll never have any use for me, but he had been very kind to me the day before and I guess – I thought that, perhaps, he was becoming a bit more friendly to me. I’m such a fool!” She blew her nose and wiped her eyes with his proffered handkerchief.

“My dear, I promise you he did not require much persuasion once I had gotten his attention and he spoke to you today. He seems truly regretful.”

She sniffed disdainfully. “He might be sorry he _said_ those things, but he still meant them.”

“Could you tell me what he said?”

“He called me a flirt. Which is true,” she added with a weak smile. “He said he couldn’t believe you could care about me; he said no one should love a freak like me. Which is also true. He called me a disgrace and said I looked like a common whore when I left the office with you,” she muttered against his chest.

Undertaker’s arms tightened around her. “My poor darling, William is a fool. A blind fool, who doesn’t recognize a treasure when it is right in front of him.” He thought about the expression he had seen on his face earlier that day: a blind, _jealous_ fool, who realized it too late.

XXXXXXXXXX

_February 26, 1890_

Undertaker left Grell’s flat the following morning. He had fed her and fussed over her and held her close all night. When she pointed out that she would not be able to visit the human world if she were under suspension, he promised to visit her as often as he could. Although she had managed to see him off with a smile, she was worried. Her last suspension, after the Jack the Ripper murders, had been spent on tedious, mind-numbing jobs and chores. She’d almost rather be transferred to Maintenance; even physical labour would be preferable to the stultifying boredom of filing, filling out interminable forms and waiting in line at one office or another to satisfy the Dispatch’s hunger for endless paperwork.

And, she admitted to herself, the contempt of the rest of the office was difficult to bear. She might joke about her infamy, but being in disgrace, feeling the scorn of the others: the sneers and whispers that were just loud enough to be heard and the derisive laughter that followed her was hard. But hard experience had taught her outward indifference.

_“Sutcliff’s crying again,” one of the senior boys whispered._

_“Then let’s give the little pansy something to cry about,” the Prefect snickered as he wrapped the end of his belt around his hand and advanced._

She had learned to stop crying; she had learned to act as if she didn’t care and, later, was labeled eccentric and flamboyant until the burden of pretence became too much and she learned that class, money and an ancient family name offered no protection to those considered unnatural.

A message arrived from Dispatch requesting that she report the following morning. By now, everyone must know that she had been in the Asylum. She could already hear the sniggers that she should have been left there, but she would hold her head high. She would ignore the mocking words and laugh in their faces. And she would hold fast to the memory of a pair of extraordinary green-gold eyes that glowed with love when they looked at her and a beautiful, scarred, gently smiling face.

For now, she was too restless to stay in her flat and, shrugging on her coat, she set out to the shops, intending to find a small gift for Ronald. She had been genuinely touched when Undertaker had told her of his determination to speak at her hearing. Of course, the best thing she could do for him would be to avoid him like the plague, but she wanted a token to show her gratitude.

The early spring day was pleasant and the soft air and slight breeze felt like a gift after the foetid air of the Asylum. Grell shuddered, wondering how long the horror of that place would stay with her. She caught several sidelong glances on the street and realized that her notoriety had grown yet again. A woman with a child took hold of the youngster’s arm and pulled him into a shop as she passed. She couldn’t blame her; children were so rare and precious among the Shinigami. Who could fault the woman for protecting her child from the mad reaper? No doubt, from now on, children throughout the realm would be told that if they didn’t behave, Grell Sutcliff would come for them.

She had just left a little shop near the Library with a pair of smart black onyx cuff links when she heard a voice call her name.

“Grell! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Mr. Harland,” she replied, extending her hand, “how lovely to see you again.”

“Now my dear,” he said, taking her hand and tucking it in his elbow, “you must call me Clarence and you must allow me to take you to lunch.”

He led to her to an elegant tea shop nearby and opened the door for her. “How fortunate to meet you like this! I had been planning to ask our friend how I might contact you.”

She noticed a few heads turn as the distinguished, retired reaper seated the disgrace of the Dispatch at a tiny table and smiled sweetly all about, raking them with her gaze until they looked away.

“Well done, my dear,” he chuckled, handing her a menu.

“I guess you heard I got myself into a bit of trouble,” she grinned.

“You certainly did. Such a fuss! I remember, when I was a trainee, two reapers were courting the same girl. One of them had the most ridiculous Scythe – looked like a medieval axe – and he used it to smash the other fellow’s door down and chased him all over the office.”

Grell burst out laughing. “Heavens! What happened to him?”

“Oh, he was disciplined – demoted to a training Scythe for a spell – but he’s on the Council now.”

“Oh Clarence!” she laughed. “You are wicked to repeat such a tale. Tell me more!”

He kept her laughing while she sipped beef bouillon and nibbled on watercress sandwiches with gossip from centuries past and tales of desperate poets beseeching him for credit in his shop. When coffee and a plate of pastel-coloured macarons appeared, he became serious. “Our friend is worried about you,” he said.

“He’s very sweet, but I do seem to land on my feet,” she insisted. “No doubt I’ll be filing and emptying wastebaskets for a while before they let me back out. I wonder if you can be demoted to a pair of nail clippers.”

“No, his concerns are of a far graver nature. Now, don’t be angry, my dear, but he has confided that you have many vivid memories of your past existence.”

“Yes,” she admitted, “but I don’t see what all the fuss is about. My first week of training I asked if we would ever be required to reap a friend or family member. I thought the instructor was going to have a fit. He thundered at me, ‘Sutcliff! Reapers have no memories. Any you might still have will fade shortly. It will make no difference who you are required to reap.’”

“But, certainly, you must understand why having memories could be dangerous to us?”

“In our early years, yes, but everyone I’ve ever known must be long gone by now.”

“There is another danger. He believes, and I agree, that your soul may not have been completely extracted.”

“Oh,” she said, staring at him in bewilderment, “that sounds very… complicated.”

“It is rare, but not completely unheard of,” he said. “We have both done some research on the subject. A highly skilled reaper could correct the issue, even at this time.”

Unsure how much she liked that idea, Grell asked, “Is it necessary? I’ve managed a long time like I am. Anyhow, they seem to be fading.”

“Fading? What do you mean?”

“Sometimes it’s there and a second later it’s gone. Just like that. Perhaps it has just taken longer for me than most trainees.”

“Maybe so, my dear,” he said, patting her hand, “but would you do me an enormous favour?” At her nod, he continued, “Our friend cares about you very much and he is concerned for your welfare. If you have any more of these strange episodes, will you tell him at once?”

“I still think he’s getting hot and bothered about nothing, but all right.”

“My dear Grell,” Clarence said with a roguish grin, “I assure you that you are worth getting hot and bothered about.”

XXXXXXXXXX

It was the oldest part of the realm. Crumbling buildings, that might have once been splendid, cast shadows over streets filled with refuse. No one alive remembered it any other way. Some said that the derelict, burned-out structure crouched on a cliff face overhanging the ruins had once housed the Library. Every few years the Council made noises about cleaning up the Old Town, but the idea was always put aside as waste of time and resources and the Shinigami, secure in their gleaming offices, ignored the decaying wasteland on the fringes of their world.

It was here that Grell fled after her lunch with Clarence to seek shelter in the shadow world of the realm where she would always be a misfit.

But it was not uninhabited. Crime was rare in their world and harshly punished, but the Old Town made its own laws and its doings were tacitly overlooked. On the outskirts, were taverns and public houses that catered to those who were curious about the seedy underbelly of their world, but most Shinigami, believing they had spent an evening drenched in decadence, rarely ventured further.

Anything was available if the price was right: contraband from the human world, stolen spectacles and Death Scythes, the dangerous narcotic known as White Poppy that could leach out their souls and companionship of any description. Grell plunged into darkened streets where the murky light of the taverns could not penetrate, her red coat and streaming hair a beacon to all she passed, but no one dared to approach the infamous blood-red reaper. Hours of restless roaming brought her to a dimly lit cellar where a few lost souls sought brief refuge by means of whatever they could afford – a place familiar to her from the madness of the Ripper days and afterwards.

She took a seat, tracing the innumerable drink circles on the scarred surface of the bar with her fingertip.

“Agent Sutcliff,” wheezed the gray-haired man behind the bar, “it’s been a long time.”

Grell gazed about, at the dirty floor, the smeared glasses littering the tables, the sodden, defeated men, slumped in their chairs. She breathed deeply of the sour stench of stale liquor and despair and smiled.

“Too long.”

He poured a generous measure into a glass and placed it before her.

“Leave the bottle,” she muttered, shoving a sovereign across the bar. It might have been human currency, but it was still gold and could buy a great deal in the Old Town.

Her hands had finally stopped shaking. Another glass or two might silence the voices – those cursed memories that crowded her skull until there was no room for rational thought and the rest of the bottle might drown the terror of the blank spaces where they vanished like smoke and dull the pain that knifed through her when they disappeared. The conversation with Clarence had brought her absolute wrongness into sharp relief.

Such as sweet man to be so concerned about her! And Undertaker, who made her feel beautiful and feminine and lovable, instead of the unnatural monster she knew herself to be.

And if the brandy didn’t work, there was always something else.

A man approached her. He was coarsely handsome, full-lipped and fleshy. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Sneering at him, she cast a mocking glance at the bottle in front of her.

“Then how about if you buy me one, sweetheart?”

She shrugged and gestured for another glass.

He filled his own glass and topped up hers. “I’m Gabriel,” he said, leaning on the bar.

“Grell.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do,” she said with a shrill laugh. “I’m famous – practically a legend.” She drained her glass and refilled it. “So you’re Gabriel. Like the angel. Have you a mighty trump?” she asked running her finger down the buttons of his shirt.

“I might at that.” He grasped her hand and pushed it lower.

She raised an eyebrow and bared her teeth. “Would you like me to give it a blow?” She burst out laughing at the horror that crossed his face. “I didn’t think so. Pity.” She snatched her hand away.

“Now Grell, don’t be like that. We can still have fun, I’m sure.” He took her chin in a brutal grasp.

His fingers were short and blunt and calloused. There were thick crescents of dirt under his nails. Grell felt the heat pooling in her loins. This was going to be so good…

“Perhaps.” She chewed her lower lip, her eyes glittering as the blood trickled down her chin and deliberately allowed her legs to splay open. From the corner of her eye she could see the barman occupying himself at the farthest end of the bar and the others, carefully ignoring them as he wrapped a hank of her hair around his fist and moved closer.

“As long as you promise to mind those teeth, sweetheart.” He gave her hair a vicious tug.

Grell gasped and shuddered delicately. “Of course, my angel Gabriel,” she purred. Her fingers toyed with his belt buckle. “Perhaps we could find somewhere a tiny bit more private?” She could smell his sweat and the musk of his arousal and pulsed with desire.

“This way,” he muttered.

She followed him, fingering the tiny scissors she had neglected to return to the Dispatch when her Death Scythe was restored, nestled in her coat pocket, unable to restrain her wild laughter a moment longer.


	4. Chapter 4

_February 27, 1890_

It was amazing how almost the entire Dispatch seemed to find it necessary to be in the outer office when she arrived. Holding her head high, she tossed her hair back and strolled in.

“Hello darlings,” she sang, “did you miss me?”

“Senpai!” Ronald bounded across the room. “You’re back! The place isn’t the same without you.”

Moved by the genuine pleasure she saw in his face, Grell was tempted to throw her arms around him, but contented herself with an affectionate pat on his shoulder. “Much quieter and duller, I’m sure.”

An agent, who had been lounging against the wall, ambled over to her. “About the other day,” he began.

“You mean when you knocked me out?” she said sweetly. “Think nothing of it, dear.” She reached out and squeezed his bicep. “Of course, if I had known before how strong and forceful you could be…” She began to bat her eyes furiously at him, enjoying his discomfort.

Everyone suddenly returned to work with great energy and the others drifted away as William’s office door opened.

He was as stoic and impassive as ever. “Grell, please come to my office for a moment.”

Making a great show of reluctance, she released the agent’s arm and followed him inside, taking a seat at his curt command. They stared at each other in awkward silence for several moments.

Finally, she said, “William, I need to thank you for speaking at my hearing. No doubt, I’d be rotting in the Asylum otherwise.”

“Quite,” he replied, adjusting his glasses. “Now, I sent several agents to investigate the areas you mentioned in your reports. There is evidence of demon activity.” He cleared his throat. “I am sorry I dismissed your initial misgivings out of hand and, as I said earlier, Knox will accompany you in the future.”

To her horror, sudden tears sprang to her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Staring at a point over her head, he continued, “You will be returned to active duty tomorrow. Your Scythe has been restored to you. I trust you will not use it in the office in the future.” He smiled faintly.

The last of her control slipped away. “Oh William!” she sobbed. “I am so sorry! I swear I wasn’t intending to harm you – just give you a good fright.”

“Will it make you feel better to know you succeeded?” He passed her a handkerchief as she wept harder. “Honestly Grell! Must you always be so dramatic?”

She blew her nose and glanced up at him, suddenly suspicious. “Why are you being so kind to me? I know Undertaker paid you a visit…”

“He did, but I had already determined that I would speak at your hearing.” He refused the sodden handkerchief she attempted to return. “He just wanted assurances that my words would be heartfelt – and they were.” He sighed. “I don’t understand you, Grell. I don’t suppose that I ever will. But we are colleagues. We have worked together for a long time. I would regret it if we were not able to continue to do so.”

This was as close to an admission of friendship as she would ever hear, she knew. “I would too,” she said quietly. “I know I embarrass you and annoy you no end and I shall continue to do so, but I do love you. Not that way,” she hastened to add, “and I am proud to work under you.”

“You have a damned odd way of showing it,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching for an instant. “Now, I have a great deal of work to do and you will find the same in your office. I expect to see it all complete before you leave today,” he added sternly.

“Yes, my comrade in arms,” she giggled.

William rolled his eyes. “Honestly!”

XXXXXXXXXX

“You are right to be worried about her,” Clarence said, accepting a mug of tea as he leaned against a coffin in Undertaker’s shop. “It’s not even the memories; the extraction could be completed although I think she would resist the idea.”

“Frankly, so would I unless there were no other choice. She is unconventional and exceptional,” Undertaker said with a bemused smile. “I should hate to see that change.” He offered a biscuit to the other man.

Shaking his head, he spoke, “What concerns me is that her record is missing.”

“Then you agree with me? It has not merely been misfiled? I know looking for a single record in the Library is like trying to find one grain of sand on a beach, but-“

“Access to reapers’ records is strictly controlled. They are stored separately from the rest. I called in a favour from one of the Seniors. An audit of all reapers’ records is about to be requested. It will be presented as being the Will of the Higher Up. The Head Librarian will have no choice. I don’t imagine he will be in a very good mood for the next several weeks,” he chuckled.

“That must have been quite a favour.”

“It was.”

XXXXXXXXXX

_March 23, 1890_

The moon was beginning to rise as Grell and Ronald perched themselves on the roof of a stately townhouse in London.

Checking his watch again, Ronald began to tap his foot impatiently. “I wish the old geezer would hurry up and croak. I have a date.”

“Of course you do,” she replied with a laugh. “Is it that pretty dark-haired girl from the Library?”

“No. Everyone in the Library is on double overtime these days. It’s the new girl in Spectacles.”

“Oh! Well, do be careful, dear. She seems like a very sweet girl and Pops is dreadfully protective of his staff.” She consulted her own watch and sighed. “I’d suggest that we go move things along a bit, but I am trying to stay out of trouble. This is the first job we’ve had in London since they let me out.”

“You sure you don’t want to slope off?” he asked, grinning at her. “There’s nothing much to this job: fellow’s in his seventies, dying in bed of natural causes. I can take care of it.”

“That’s very kind of you, but-“ Suddenly, she spied two figures on the street. “Oh look!” she cried. “Do you see who it is?”

“It’s the Phantomhive boy and his butler, isn’t it?”

“Yes! His townhouse is quite near here. Oh! This is my lucky night!” She leapt from the roof, shrieking, “Sebastian! My darling! It is I, the ruby of your heart’s desire!”

Sebastian sidestepped her onslaught nimbly, sending her crashing into a lamppost.

“Oooh!” she moaned, picking herself up. “The pain of love! It crashes over me in a great, swelling wave of passion!”

“Grell!” Ciel exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh hello, little one,” she cooed. “I didn’t see you there. Hiding behind Sebastian as usual.” As Ciel glared at her, she continued, “Actually, I’m working. Poor old Lord Frederick across the road is about to breath his last. You see,” she said, draping herself over Sebastian, “the crimson cord of destiny has drawn us together again, dearest Bassy.”

“Indeed,” he said, extricating himself from her embrace.

“Why don’t you put the child to bed and, finally, we shall keep the appointment that is written in our stars?” She danced behind him and wrapped her arms about his shoulders, toying with his hair. “For ours is a love that should not be, but must!” Her tongue reached out to flick at his ear.

“Disgusting!” Ciel muttered as Sebastian elbowed her in the mid-section hard enough to send her flying onto the pavement.

“So cruel, my love!” she cried, clutching his knees.

Sebastian kicked her aside while Ciel complained, “I don’t know why you don’t just finish him off.”

“Because he is occasionally useful to us, young master. Unless you wish to order me to do so.”

Grell grinned balefully at the boy. “Oh yes! A duel between love and death, passion and pain!” She caressed herself slowly and writhed on the ground. “Please say the word!”

“Senpai!” Ronald called. “It’s almost time.”

She jumped to her feet and leapt into the air. “Alas, Bassy my love! The unkind fates have pulled us apart once again.” She posed on the rooftop, extending her forefinger, thumb and smallest finger as she raised her hand to her mouth and poked out her tongue. “Farewell, my darling!” she called and disappeared in a scarlet blur.

“Why do you do that?” Ronald asked when she joined him. “Throw yourself at him like that? I thought you were mad about Undertaker.”

“I am,” she replied, still giggling from the encounter, “but how often does one get an opportunity to torment a demon?”

“It seems awfully dangerous to me. What if you push him too far one day?”

“My dear Ronnie,” she said, becoming serious as they entered the house, “one day Sebastian and I shall face each other, I’m sure, and, until that day, I prefer that he thinks me a fool.” Her eyes began to glitter dangerously.

They were in the death chamber, eyeing the figure, gasping for breath, his hand pressed against his chest. “Would you care to do the honours?” she asked.

Ronald set to work and they viewed the record as it unspooled, chuckling at some of his youthful exploits.

“He was quite a goer,” he commented. “Why can’t I find a girl who’ll try some of those things?”

A sudden gust of wind caught Grell’s attention. The curtains billowed and settled back into place although the window was barely opened. “Ronnie, did you see that?”

“What?” he asked as the last of the record unfurled and vanished.

“A shadow. At the window. On the roof.”

“Just a cloud, passing over the moon, I’m sure.” He hovered anxiously over her as she hesitated with the stamp.

“Of course,” she muttered affixing the seal. “You didn’t catch a whiff of anything, did you?”

“Like demon?” he asked sarcastically. “You were just wrapped all around one, you know. Of course it stinks of demon in here.”

But it wasn’t Sebastian’s scent; she would stake her life on that and it most definitely was not Sebastian’s voice whispering, “ _Grell… I’m waiting for you…_ ”

XXXXXXXXXX

A few moments later, she was in Undertaker’s shop and in his arms.

Kissing him hungrily, she murmured, “My darling, I’ve missed you so much.” She plucked his hat from his head and threw it across the room. “Take me to the back now and ravish me, I insist!”

“Your wish is my command, my dear,” he laughed, tossing her over his shoulder and delivering a smack to her rear as he carried her to the bed. He undressed her skillfully, kissing her all the while, and soon she was clad in only her open shirt and undergarment. His head was buried in the crook of her neck. “You must have met with Sebastian recently,” he said, nipping at her flesh.

“Oh dear, is it that obvious? You don’t mind, do you?” she asked anxiously.

He raised himself on his elbows as she fumbled with his robes. “I am only concerned for your safety. I am not a jealous man. I do not believe you would ever give me cause simply because you like to tease and flirt.”

Suddenly, the guilt that she had refused to feel descended. This man, who unbelievably loved her, deserved to know what she was. She pushed him off her and sat up, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them.

“Darling,” she said, “I did something dreadful.”

His smile faded. Climbing off the bed, he sat in a chair, wearing only his drawers and waited.

Grell toyed with a button on her shirt, unable to meet his eyes, as she told him of her encounter in the Old Town.

“I see,” he said quietly. “You ventured into the worst area of the realm, seduced a strange man in some vile establishment and lured him out so you could kill him in cold blood. May I ask why?”

His voice was so cold; his face was expressionless. She had lost him, but she owed him the truth. “Because sometimes I need to do those things. Because I need to see the blood flowing in rivers of red. It was either that or turn my Scythe on myself. It’s the only way to silence the shrieking in my head.”

“Shrieking?”

“You know,” she shouted, fumbling to close the buttons on her shirt. “Those damned memories you and Clarence are so worried about and the pain when they’re ripped out. They should have left me in the Asylum.” She scrambled into her trousers and gathered up the rest of her garments, searching for her shoes. “I – I’ll stay away from you from now on, I promise.” She sat on the floor, impatiently tugging at her knotted shoelaces.

Undertaker squatted next to her, pulling her shoe from her hand. “Grell, don’t go.” He scooped her up and laid her back on the bed, pinning her hands over her head. “And don’t try to fight me. You might be strong, but I am stronger.”

Suddenly, she burst out laughing.

“I hardly think this is the time for laughter,” he growled.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she said, a hysterical note entering her voice. “It’s just you look so ridiculous, looming over me like a great avenging angel, your hair flowing about, wearing nothing but your drawers.” Her laughter became uncontrollable.

He released her and collapsed at her side. “What am I going to do with you?” he sighed.

“If you had any sense, you’d give me my shoes and toss me out, shouting, ‘Good riddance!’” she giggled irrepressibly.

“No doubt, but I find myself strangely unwilling to contemplate letting you go, although you will probably drive me to madness.” He drew his nail across her cheek.

“You’re not angry with me?”

“I am very angry with you. You have refused to confide in me, dismissing all my concerns for your welfare with a laugh, when it is obvious that you are deeply troubled by this. You make it very hard for someone who loves you.”

“But no one has ever loved me before – not like you.” She wound the ends of his hair around her fingers. How could she explain what it was like to have spent her entire existence – now and before – feeling despised and different? “I have no idea how to be loved; I never believed anyone could – until Madam Red.”

“And she disappointed you. My poor dear.” He gathered her into his arms. “And there is the other matter. How could you endanger yourself like that? That wasn’t your first such expedition to the Old Town, was it?” As she shook her head, he continued, “I know you are strong and skilled and fearless, but, one day, you might meet an opponent who is a match for you. You know they deal in stolen Scythes there and I have no doubt your reputation would make you a prime target for some.” He peered into her face. “Or is that what you were hoping for?”

She buried her face in his chest, refusing to answer.

“Very well,” he said. “You shall share as much as you can of your memories and the occasions when they disappear with Clarence and me and, in the very near future, we shall bring William and Ronald into our confidence.”

“William and Ronald!” she exclaimed, raising her head to look at him. “Is that necessary?”

“It may be.”

“Wonderful!” she complained. “Just when I’m finally getting on some sort of friendly footing with William.”

“How friendly?” he asked warily.

“Darling!” she laughed. “I thought you said you weren’t the jealous type.”

“Perhaps I was mistaken where you are concerned. There will be no more trips to the Old Town. Do you hear me?” His eyes blazed as they bore into hers.

“I barely touched the fellow,” she protested.

He rolled on top of her and twined his hands in hers. “You will touch no one, but me from now on. I will tolerate your – um, relationship with Sebastian because I know your motives and I know you are not serious when you tease and flirt with others, but-“

“I swear, darling, I want no one, but you,” she interrupted, wrapping her legs around his to bring him closer. Nor did she. That sordid encounter in the Old Town and others like it had nothing to do with bodily lust. Grell gave herself up to the sensation of Undertaker’s lips on hers, against her throat and his mouth, sucking hard against the base of her neck. He was marking her, proclaiming her as his, she thought, her heart hammering wildly at the idea.

He had discarded his drawers and was kneeling over her. She took him eagerly into her mouth, tasting the salt of the drop that gleamed at the tip of his arousal. She wrapped her hand around the base to move in time with his thrusts, watching him as he grasped the headboard and drove forward. He was so beautiful. His torso was lean, but finely muscled like sculpted marble, marked by scars. His extraordinary eyes gleamed with passion; his pale lips were slightly open and he was panting harshly.

Undertaker withdrew carefully and moved lower to straddle her. With a single, swift motion, he pulled her hastily buttoned shirt open, sending several buttons flying and deliberately scratched his long nails across her chest. The slight welts he left stung, but there was no real pain. She reached up to pinch his nipples and raked her own nails along his smooth skin, laughing softly and lifting her hips to help him as he impatiently pushed down her trousers and underwear.

Suddenly, he grasped her haunches and pulled her legs over his shoulders. His tongue flicked out to tease her length and she recoiled.

“No Grell,” he muttered. “Tonight I am claiming you completely. All of you.”

She drummed her heels against his back ineffectually, trying to buck him off, but his iron grip was too strong. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. Why did he have to try that? It would spoil everything. A tear escaped the corner of her eye.

“Look at me, please,” he begged. He had relaxed his hold.

Reluctantly opening her eyes, she saw his fierce expression had quieted. He was watching her with tenderness and compassion.

“I won’t go on if you hate it that much, but I want to love all of you. Every part of you.”

She felt humbled and ashamed; she doubted him over and over, yet he constantly made her feel womanly and desirable. Nodding slowly, she whispered, “All right.”

It wasn’t the first time she had felt a mouth close around her, but it was the first time she hadn’t felt wretchedly aware of everything that was wrong about her. The warmth of his mouth and gentle suction overwhelmed her. Ripples of delight, starting in her groin, spread and pulsated through her entire body. His tongue teased her skillfully, sending shocks of joy all the way to her fingertips. She could hear herself crying out in ecstasy and shamelessly thrusted herself forward, greedy for more, until the pressure built to an almost unbearable peak and forced herself to slow down and stop.

“Another time, darling,” she panted raggedly, “I want you to take it all, but for tonight…”

He smiled in triumph. “Another time, I will. I’ll keep you on the edge for half the night before I let you finish.”

“Promise?” she whispered shakily. “And I’ll do the same to you for the rest of the night.”

He turned her onto her stomach and began to press kisses along the length of her spine as he scratched his nails gently down her back. Pleasure of a different sort spilled through her: soft tingles that echoed from her scalp to spread across her arms and torso, raising goosebumps across her flesh. She was nearly in a trance of bliss, almost purring.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” Undertaker chuckled softly as she arched her back and sighed. His hands travelled down, tracing lazy patterns on her lower back and buttocks until he moved lower and slowly licked the crease between her cheeks.

His mouth was warm against her delicate flesh as his tongue probed her intimately; the silken fall of his hair caressed her softly. Grell was trembling with want, avid for more. She moaned when his fingers sought and found the sensitive patch before her opening and stroked it slowly while he teased and tormented her with his tongue. One hand reached around to take firm hold of her length. She froze for an instant before surrendering to the sensation of his long fingers wrapped around her and began to move in his hand, matching the rhythm he set.

She normally loathed being touched this way; hated any attention to the evidence that she was a mistake, an aberration of nature, but Undertaker’s caresses were a revelation. For the first time, she felt as if every part of her was in tune, part of a splendid whole and, for the first time, celebrated being loved with her entire being and gloried in the knowledge that he loved her as she was.

Something cool dribbled between her buttocks and she realized that he was pouring oil from a small bottle. His fingers gently rubbed the oil against her entrance with slow, deliberate strokes as she pushed back against him, encouraging him to go further. She could feel his fingers, very carefully pressing in. His nails scratched slightly, but the discomfort was minimal as she relaxed and opened up to him and, suddenly, a jolt of pleasure shook her when his fingers brushed against her core.

Grell cried out and arched her back, shaking as he steadily rubbed his fingers against her centre. Heat bloomed in her loins and uncoiled throughout her body, ebbing and flowing with every caress of his fingers until she was clawing the sheets, whimpering with need. She groaned in dismay as he removed his fingers and thrust back wantonly, begging for more.

More oil trickled down her crease and she could feel him poised behind her, when he leaned forward to murmur in her ear. “You must tell me if I hurt you.”

“Of course, darling,” she panted, “but you must remember that I am not made of glass.”

She turned her head and captured his mouth, grazing his lip, and smiled, her eyes gleaming.

“Very well,” he muttered and sank into her with a single swift thrust.

The pain was sudden and sharp, but brief; he had prepared her well. She felt wonderfully filled as they became one. Undertaker swept her hair over one shoulder and wrapped his arm around her, bringing her back to rest against his chest while his other hand grasped her length.

Grell rose and fell on her knees, moving in time with his driving hips, consumed by blossoming rapture. His mouth was against her neck; she could feel his teeth scraping her skin as he moved faster. She was wrapped in the silver curtain of his hair, caught in his arms, folded into his very being.

They climbed together and retreated, held back, shuddering with need, and climbed again until they were both panting. Slick with sweat, she could feel his heart hammering as his chest slipped across her back. The delight unspooled from her deepest core, uncoiling in a fiery cascade until she reached the peak and, crying out, spilled into his hand. Still quivering and throbbing, she heard him groan and felt him pulse, releasing himself deep within her.

Slowly, they untangled themselves and fell back onto the bed. Grell’s hand was still shaking as she pushed his hair back from his face. He caught her hand in his, kissed her palm and traced the bruises on her neck with his fingertip.

“I don’t think your shirt will quite cover these,” he said with a slight smile.

Sighing with contentment, she replied, “I don’t care. I’m scandalous enough already. A few love bites won’t make my reputation any worse.”

“Maybe so,” he said, taking her chin between his fingers, “but you will be scandalous no longer. I meant what I said earlier.”

“Yes darling,” she answered meekly, but began to laugh softly. “But I might be tempted to see what would happen if I made you truly jealous.” She shivered theatrically.

“Grell,” he said, growing serious, “I do not love easily, but I love with every fibre of my being. I beg you, don’t make light of what we have.”

“Never,” she whispered. “I promise.” She stretched luxuriously. “Now, let me go clean myself up a bit.”

Climbing from the bed, she scooped her shirt from the floor and went to the water closet. She grinned at her reflection in the mirror over the wash stand. The bruises on her neck, the scratches on her chest, her flushed face and slumberous eyes – she looked well-used and well-loved. She cleaned herself quickly and pulled on her shirt, noting the missing buttons; it had been worth it. Suddenly, she cast it aside. Undertaker had never looked at her with anything but desire, had never made her feel less than a woman. It was foolish to continue to shield herself from his gaze.

He had doused the lamps, but the room was lit by moonlight that streamed in through a small window. He was so beautiful, stretched out on the bed, she thought. Slender and long-limbed with the silvery light casting his scars into sharp relief, he was smiling gently at her as she cleaned him with a wet cloth she had brought and slipped between the sheets.

“Your rooms seem tidier than usual,” she commented, placing her glasses on the nightstand. “I’d swear these are fresh linens.”

“They are. A local woman lost her child. She had very little; I would have taken care of the boy for nothing, but she was too proud. She comes once a week.”

“That was very sweet of you.”

“Not really. I would prefer my home be fit to receive a lady guest,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips, “and, although you have shown yourself to be surprisingly domestic, I can think of other ways I would prefer to keep you occupied when you are here.”

“But I like cooking and looking after a home,” she protested. “In fact, I was thinking… your bed is beautiful. I adore this black walnut headboard, but your quilt is a disgrace. I saw a lovely eiderdown in a shop back home – figured grey silk, trimmed with black and there were these dear little matching pillows…”

“I hardly think I am the little pillow sort,” he laughed, silencing her with a kiss. “But your flat is charming. Did you learn these things from your mother?”

“Heavens no!” she exclaimed. “Mother was far too busy and then she was sick…” She fell silent for a moment. “I think she must have died, but I don’t remember that.”

“I’m not going to press you tonight, my dear, but do you recall a great deal of your childhood?”

“Some. I’m not sure.”

“Would you share a happy memory with me?”

Grell nestled into his arms and began to toy with his braid. “Just before Christmas, in the kitchens. I was very small, sitting at the long table. One of the footmen had found a high stool so I could reach. The room smelled of cinnamon and cloves and spices; it was wonderful. Cook was making the mincemeat pies, rolling the dough out, and she gave me a lump of dough to play with.”

“Footman? Cook? Were you born to the nobility?”

“I suppose you could say that,” she shrugged. “There was a title and land and a large house. The family wasn’t as wealthy as the Phantomhives, but it was an older name,” she added with a touch of smugness.

“Should I be calling you My Lady?” he chuckled.

“Only if you do it in front of Sebastian and the brat,” she giggled. “Imagine his face if he knew we were related.”

“Are you?”

“Very distantly. Most of the older families have a common ancestor somewhere.”

“Do you remember much about your father?”

“He wasn’t a bad man, I suppose. As long as he had his horses and dogs and a good meal at the end of the day. He took his responsibilities very seriously – always traveled up to London when the House of Lords was sitting.” She became thoughtful. “I guess that was one of the reasons why he was so angry with me; I was not the heir he needed.” Suddenly, she caught her breath and flinched in his arms.

“Grell! Are you all right?” he demanded. “Did it happen again?”

“Yes,” she muttered. “Something about Father I was going to say. And then it was gone.”

“And there was pain? Was it severe?” He gripped her shoulders. “Tell me!”

“Yes.”

“Then we shall see Clarence as soon as possible. He knows a great deal more than I do about this sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?” she asked irritably.

“I don’t wish to frighten you. Clarence is an expert in manipulation or destruction of records. It is he who manufactures the Death Markers. We won’t know until the audit at the Library is complete, but we believe someone has your record and is somehow tearing your remaining memories from you.”

“But why?” she exclaimed. “Why would someone want my record or memories?”

Undertaker’s arms tightened around her. “So they can eat your soul.”


	5. Chapter 5

Grell stormed and raged for hours, beside herself with anger and fear. Why would anyone want to eat her soul? She was a mistake from the start; her soul was worthless. Deaf to Undertaker’s soothing words, she hysterically begged him to complete the extraction himself.

“Clarence said a skilled reaper could do it,” she sobbed. “You were one of the best.”

“Not without your record at hand. You would be ripped apart.”

“Just do it!’ she cried, trying to scramble up from the bed. “Or I’ll end it myself.”

He pinned her to the bed with a struggle while she screeched at him to let her go. He was stronger than she was, but her anger made her difficult to overpower. “I will not!” he shouted. “Nor will I let you up until I have your word that you will not do something stupid or rash.”

“I’ll go to Sebastian!” she shrieked. “I’ll attack the boy. He’ll tear me to pieces and I won’t stop him. I’ll go back to the Old Town and provoke every piece of scum I meet there until one of them finishes me off!”

Undertaker gripped her by the shoulders and shook her as hard as he could while she frantically clawed his arms and lunged her head forward, snapping her teeth at him. Faced with no other choice, he finally drew his hand back and slapped her with all the force he could muster.

“Grell! Calm down,” he thundered, “or – or I’ll portal you back to the Asylum myself!”

“Bastard!” she snarled, but she stopped thrashing against him and went quiet, panting harshly.

He warily released her and reached out to brush his knuckles against her livid cheek. “Forgive me, my dear.”

Jerking her head away, Grell curled herself up into a tight ball, facing away from him. “Why am I not allowed to be happy?” she asked in a strangled whisper. “My entire existence has been one long prank played on me. I tried to put an end to it once and ended out here and now you tell me that even here, even in this form, I’m still a mistake.” She sniffed loudly and wiped the back of her hand against her nose. “They should have culled me during training – done to me whatever they did to Jonah.”

He put his arms around her and held her until he felt her begin to relax against him. “You are allowed to be happy, my dearest. The fact that you were selected to become a Shinigami means that there exists something extraordinary in your soul. We have both reaped individuals who made the same choice we did. Very few are reborn in our form. You must stop viewing this existence as a punishment. It is a penance perhaps, but it is also a second chance.”

“For you, perhaps, or for William or Ronald, but even my reaping was botched and now you say someone is holding my record.” She turned to face him and gazed up into his face, her eyes huge and fearful. “I know I’m melodramatic, but I don’t think I’m overdoing it when I say I truly believe that I was not meant to be present in this world. Things are conspiring to make that happen. I’ve even got a demon following me around now. And, unfortunately, it’s not Sebastian,“ she added with a forced laugh.

“What did you just say? How could you have said nothing about this earlier?” he demanded.

“I did,” she insisted. “It’s almost impossible to describe. At first it was just an odd feeling or sense of being watched. I reported it every time. William finally believed me. That’s why Ronald has been with me lately.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

“William was actually very sweet,” she confided. “He said there is evidence of demon activity in the areas that I had been. He was quite apologetic for not having believed me from the start, but I don’t think he’ll believe me about tonight.”

“Why? What happened?”

She told him of the shadowy figure and voice. “But Ronald saw nothing and even you noticed I had been near Sebastian tonight. Who is going to believe that I caught a trace of demon when I had just been hanging all over one?”

“I think you might be doing William an injustice,” Undertaker replied. “Surely he knows that you are – familiar enough with Sebastian to recognize that the scent wasn’t his.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with the other business?”

“It is a possibility – especially since you say you heard him calling you.”

“How would a demon have possession of my record? Why would a demon take such an interest in my soul? There are much easier targets than a reaper and certainly much easier targets than _me_.” She couldn’t help the note of pride that crept into her voice.

“You’re absolutely sure it was not Sebastian?” he asked. “You and he do have a fairly turbulent history. He has been to the Library. He has a somewhat greater knowledge of our world than most of his kind.”

“I am sure.” She raised herself up on one elbow to peer at the window. “It will be dawn soon. I shall have to leave presently.” Burying her head in his chest, she mumbled, “Could you just hold me tight for a short while, darling?”

“Of course,” he murmured. “I know you are more frightened than you will admit, but, I swear, you will not face this alone.”

XXXXXXXXXX

_March 24, 1890_

In spite of her fatigue and the fear that gnawed at her belly, Grell couldn’t repress a shout of laughter at the package that was waiting on her office desk that morning. The prettily wrapped box revealed a rainbow of writing paper and assortment of tiny glass bottles, each containing a different colour of ink, accompanied by a charming note:

_My dear Grell,_

_Please accept this small token of my gratitude for the pleasant lunch we recently shared. I look forward to our next meeting when you may tell me how you brightened up the Dispatch with its contents, much as your presence enlivens any gathering._

_Your humble servant,_

_Clarence Harland_

_P.S. The purple ink is violet-scented. Supervisor Spears should appreciate that._

What a sweet man, she thought, giggling at the idea of William’s reaction. Which reminded her that she needed to speak to him about the events of the previous night.

A few minutes later, in his office, she told him of the figure she was convinced she had seen and, reluctantly, of the voice she had heard.

“Honestly Grell!” he exclaimed, not bothering to hide his irritation when she confessed that she had encountered Sebastian, “You make it almost impossible for the people who care about your well-being.” He glared at her and adjusted his glasses. “If you didn’t insist on carrying on this ridiculous flirtation with Michaelis, perhaps Ronald would have sensed a demon nearby as well.”

“Then you believe me?”

“Yes, I do. You are often foolish and almost always over-dramatic, but you are the most skilled and fearless reaper currently in the Dispatch.”

“Why William,” she could not repress a giggle, “I do believe that is the first time you have ever paid me a compliment.”

“And it will be the last if you don’t start showing some sense. You are your own worst enemy. I will send an agent to investigate, but with the Phantomhive townhouse so close, the entire neighbourhood likely reeks of demon.”

She thanked him quietly and returned to her office. Peering blearily at the mountain of papers on her desk, she heard a great commotion in the outer office. Relieved that she wasn’t at the centre of it for once, she tried to concentrate on the reports in front of her when Ronald burst in.

“Senpai! What did you say to William? He just tore an awful strip off me. Hauled me into his office and bawled me out for not keeping an eye on you.”

“Oh Ronnie,” she said, rubbing her face tiredly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble, but I had to tell him about last night.”

“Since when did you need someone to watch over you?” He fixed his eyes on the bruises on her neck and grinned. “Is the boss scared you’re losing your touch now you’re in love?”

“Hardly” she snorted, “but I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.” She grinned back at him. “So scat! I want to finish this pile in time to snatch some beauty sleep before tonight.”

“Of course,” he said, his smile growing wider. “You older folks need your rest.” He laughed and fled.

Ronald was sweet and he deserved to know the truth. Later, if she ever cleared her desk, she would have a word with William. She smiled at the notion of William scolding him. Not too long ago, she would have given her soul for any demonstration of affection from him. The years of desperate flirting and flamboyant attempts to gain his attention flashed before her and she remembered the night her love for him had finally died.

_It had been Ronald’s first such job and William had insisted on accompanying him. Reapers could not afford to feel compassion, but everyone agreed that jobs like this one were difficult – especially the first time. Grell had not been surprised to find them at a bar popular with members of the Dispatch afterwards. A fair number from the office had shown up; they all knew what Ronald had faced that day._

_Her own day had been gruelling: a train accident outside of London and casualties had been heavy. She perched on a stool next to Ronald and ordered a large drink, signalling for refills for him and William, who was trying to maintain his stoic attitude in spite of being more than a little drunk._

_“It just isn’t right,” Ronald slurred. “She was only six. If you could have seen what that brute did to her…”_

_She patted his arm consolingly. “It’s hard to see, I know, but she’s safe from that bastard now. He’ll never harm her again.” Grell exchanged a glance with William; he still looked shaken. The record must have been particularly horrendous._

_“Her own father,” Ronald mumbled, looking sick._

_“Some people should not be allowed to have children,” William said flatly to a loud chorus of agreement from the rest of his staff._

_She drained her drink too quickly, the strong spirits making her careless. “I agree. I would have loved a child; I would have been such a good mother…”_

_Suddenly she was surrounded by crude shouts of laughter._

_“You?” a voice called out. “A mother?”_

_“Tell us another one, Mama Grell!” cried another voice while another mocked, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”_

_Ronald was slumped over the bar, passed out. She stared at William, silently begging him to come to her defense for once, but he brushed past her, leaving the bar without a word._

_She fled the bar and opened a portal to London. With only a vague notion of where Ronald’s job had been, she wandered Whitechapel blindly, searching for the monster who would brutalize and murder his own child. Only the sight of his blood would calm the rage she felt. Only his cries would blot out the laughter of her colleagues._

_Then she saw it: a crimson puddle of blood spouting from the severed arteries of a woman prostrate on the street and the woman thrusting the knife into her belly._

_“Don’t try to stop me!” she cried, brandishing the knife at her. “She deserved it!”_

_“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she answered, “but may I ask how she offended you.”_

_“She killed her child! She threw it away like a piece of refuse!”_

_Grell’s eyes began to gleam in the darkness. She bared her teeth and smiled. “In that case, allow me to help you, my dear madam.” Hysterical laughter bubbled up as she gazed hungrily at the congealing blood on the cobblestones, the scarlet beads dripping from the knife and the coat of the woman before her. “My dearest Madam Red.”_

William had likely been too drunk to understand what was happening, she realized now, but the bloodlust had seized her during those weeks as she killed her feelings for him with every swing of her Scythe at Madam Red’s side. She had loved Angelina; she had thought she had found a companion, a mate fit for a freak like her. She would have done anything for her – anything but accept there was someone she loved more.

And yet, in spite of William’s raging and threats, her punishment had been quite lenient: a few months of chores and a temporary demotion. William had said he didn’t understand her; she was beginning to suspect that she didn’t understand him, either.

She could hear another fuss going on outside her door. Was the office always this turbulent? Or was she usually the cause of it? She sighed and tried to concentrate on the great stack of paper on her desk. A short while later, a knock sounded at her door. She was actually beginning to sympathize with William. How was she supposed to get any work done? She turned her deadliest glare on the clerk hovering in the doorway.

“Agent Sutcliff,” he said. “You are wanted in Supervisor Spears’s office immediately.”

Relenting at the sight of the visibly nervous young man, she smiled, “Tell William, I’ll be there in a moment.” He didn’t look too reassured, but then her smiles were not generally considered comforting.

“Please Agent Sutcliff,” he stammered. “He said right away.”

“Oh very well.” She donned her coat and shook out her hair, wondering what could be so urgent.

Grell could feel the entire staff’s eyes on her as she strode through the office; they seemed remarkably subdued.

“Really William,” she complained as she flung open his door, “what could I have possibly done in the half-hour since we last spoke to warrant such a summons?”

And fell silent at the sight that greeted her: Undertaker and Clarence, both wearing spectacles, and an unfamiliar face that she instinctively recognized as one of the Senior Shinigami.

“Honestly Grell,” William said with considerable awe, “you do have a talent for covering yourself with drama. We’re going to the Library immediately.”

XXXXXXXXXX

The Head Librarian himself was waiting for them by the main entrance. “What took you so long?” he grumbled, shooting a venomous glance at Grell. “This way.”

“Full of himself, isn’t he?” the Senior whispered to Clarence.

“I’ll say,” the other replied. “Has he always been this way, Alec?”

“Well… there was the time he broke his spectacles. He never would say what happened, but I heard-“ He stopped speaking as the Librarian’s ears turned bright red.

Grell, who had been trotting meekly behind them, flanked by Undertaker and William, could not help herself and leaned forward to say, “If I promise to send you a bottle of the best brandy in the realm, will you tell me the rest of that story later?”

“It’s a bargain,” he said, drawing her forward to walk between him and Clarence.

Their footsteps echoed on the marble tiles as they moved down never-ending, winding corridors. Library staff fell back at their approach and stared after them. “Gracious,” she murmured, “I feel like part of a ceremonial procession.” As they mounted another long staircase, she asked, “Do you think he even knows where we’re going? I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended out back at the main entrance.”

William poked her hard in the back, but she could hear Undertaker chuckling quietly. She knew the Library was enormous, but this was ridiculous; they had to have been walking for at least twenty minutes. Even William sighed when they turned a corner to be confronted by another endless hall.

Finally, the Librarian pushed open a heavy wooden door and ushered them into a vast, circular room. Shelves of records reached up as far as they could see, almost touching the domed ceiling. Three figures were seated at a large oval table. Grell recognized one as the Councillor who had served as judge at her hearing and knew the other to be on the Council, but it was the third who drew her eye.

Although he was no larger than the others, he seemed somehow more massive, taller and broader. In spite of the bright light in the room, his face was shadowed and indistinct. William had turned pale, even Undertaker looked taken aback and she realized she was in the presence of a Messenger.

“Agent Sutcliff,” the first said, “I trust you have recovered from your ordeal.”

“Yes sir,” she muttered, at a rare loss for words.

They stood in awkward silence; no one seemed to be willing to initiate a conversation with a member of the Heavenly Host until the Senior began to speak. “It was brought to our attention that a reaper’s record had gone missing. This is a very serious matter and required prompt investigation.”

Forgetting herself, Grell interrupted. “But why? Mine can’t be the first record to have disappeared in the history of the Dispatch.”

“It is not,” he continued, ignoring the poisonous glance the Librarian sent his way.

“Then why such a fuss?” She looked around at the assembly. “I’m just one reaper. I’m not that important.”

A voice filled the room. “Every soul is precious in the eyes of the Higher Up.” She caught a glimpse of a face of unearthly beauty. “Your soul is no less worthy than any other. It would cause great grief if it were to be lost.” The air around him shimmered and he disappeared.

Finally, William found his voice. “Could someone please explain all of this to me? You three,” he didn’t quite dare to frown at them, “showed up in my office, demanding we take Grell to the Library. What is going on?” he asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

They seated themselves as Undertaker started to speak. He told William of his early suspicions that Grell’s soul had been improperly extracted, his visits to the Library to find her record and his meetings with Clarence. “At first I thought to recreate her record with Clarence’s aid, but when it was apparent that someone has her record and is tearing her remaining memories from her, it became necessary to find who it might be.”

“Clarence approached me about initiating an audit of reapers’ records to ensure that it had not been merely misfiled,” the Senior added, “and to investigate when it had last been seen.”

“And when Grell confided that she was being shadowed by a demon, we felt that it was time to take action,” Undertaker finished.

“Grell!” William exclaimed, “How could you have not said anything about remembering for all these years? How could you not have told me your memories were being torn from you?”

“Oh do be quiet, William,” she snapped. “You were the one who frightened me out of my wits when we were training, saying that trainees who were culled were sent straight to Hell. You have spent decades threatening to have me shipped off to the Asylum when you weren’t whacking me with your Scythe or dragging me about by my hair! As if I would go to you!”

“Is this true, Supervisor Spears?” the second Councillor asked.

“Agent Sutcliff and Supervisor Spears have a rather stormy relationship,” put in her former judge. “I was brought into this matter because I have recently become acquainted with some of Agent Sutcliff’s history.”

“Everyone in the realm is aware of Agent Sutcliff’s reputation,” the Librarian pointed out. “The simplest solution would be to return him to the Asylum.”

Grell placed a restraining hand on Undertaker, who looked as though he were about ready to summon his Scythe.

“That will be enough!” the Senior thundered at the Librarian. “You heard the Messenger. You may take it as the Will of Higher Up that we do all we can to recover this soul before it is completely lost.”

“How?” William asked in a subdued voice.

“I would suggest, to begin, that Grell spend some time with me,” Clarence said. “If she were to share as many of her memories as possible with me, I could make a start on recreating her record.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer if Grell remained in the realm?” William inquired.

“No,” Undertaker said. “Whoever is stealing her memories can do it while she is here. Unfortunately, she must continue to do her work in the hope of flushing him out. She will stay with me; I can keep her safe while she is not working.”

“And I will accompany Grell on all jobs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, William!” she exclaimed. “We must continue as normally as possible. Everyone knows that I have been spending time with Undertaker.” She flushed slightly. “That will not look odd, but it will look suspicious if you are suddenly my new partner. But it is very sweet of you to offer.”

He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Very well. Knox will continue to accompany you.” He faced the others. “Grell and I do have a very unusual history, I will admit, but I will do everything in my power to help in this matter.”

“Then that is settled,” the Senior said. He rose and took Grell’s hand. “As soon as I receive that bottle of brandy, I shall be in communication with you.”

Laughing at the look the Librarian directed their way, she replied, “For Heaven’s sake, don’t make him angry. He might refuse to show us the way out. We could be stuck here forever.”

She was convinced they took a different route back to the main entrance and was sure the walk was no more than five minutes this time. “Just imagine,” she chattered as they followed the Librarian, “I get to spend the next little while with the two most charming men in London.”

“What about Sebastian?” William muttered under his breath.

The Head Librarian detained her at the top of the soaring marble stairs that led to the main entrance. “Agent Sutcliff,” he said, “I regret that your record disappeared while under my stewardship. Good luck.” Suddenly, he smiled and looked years younger. “When this is over, come and see me and I will tell you the true story of how my spectacles were broken.”

They had agreed that Clarence and Undertaker would go back to London immediately. She would join him later than night. She and William returned to her office and summoned Ronald. The younger reaper was shaken by the information they shared, but enthusiastically agreed to do whatever he could.

“You will want to go to your flat and gather your things,” William said. “I shall arrange for the Courier to take them to Undertaker’s shop.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I feel quite exhausted all of a sudden.”

“Then get some rest before you go to London. You might be glad of it tonight.”

She felt herself grow warm. Was William teasing her? His expression was inscrutable, but there was a faint gleam in his eye. “I think I shall,” she grinned.

He hovered in her doorway. “Well then…” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

She crossed the small space to stand in front of him and opened her arms. “Come here you big silly fool.”

For a moment, he held her tight. “Good luck,” he whispered. “Take care and know that I will be there in an instant if you need me.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Browne,” Undertaker replied. “It was very good of you come in today.” He handed her several coins.

“You have a lady coming over. Of course you want the place nice.” She pushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped from the hard knot at the back of her head and tucked the money in her pocket.

“What makes you think my guest is a lady?” he asked with a smile.

“Well sir, I don’t think you would have taken down all those pretty dishes from the cabinet for a gentleman.”

“You do not seem surprised that I should have a lady guest.” He locked the door to his basement workshop and surveyed the table, set for two.

“Why not?’ she grinned, showing several missing teeth. “You’re a kind man even if you’re a bit queer sometimes. You have a good business in this shop; people are never going to stop dying. You’re quite a catch.” Fixing a straw hat on her head with a lethal-looking hatpin, she laughed and said, “If it wasn’t for Mr. Browne, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“My loss must be Mr. Browne’s eternal gain,” he lamented and placed another coin in her hand. “Buy some sweets for the children.”

“They’ll be that pleased, sir. Thank you.” She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and left.

He expected Grell shortly. The Courier had dropped her bags earlier. Undertaker eyed the two cases with a certain amount of surprise; he had anticipated seeing at least six steamer trunks, but he wanted her to be comfortable – to find a refuge in his home and in his arms. Her future was so uncertain and perilous and there was little he could do to spare her.

The bell over the door jingled. He watched two porters wrestle a very large casket off the back of a cart and carry it in. He had been sure that his business was done for the day, but the men were adamant that they had been directed to deliver this coffin and its contents to him.

He stared at it in dismay. From its size, the body would be quite large. Although he had no difficulty carrying heavy cadavers to his workshop, washing the body and starting the embalming process would be lengthy and that was provided the corpse was in reasonable condition to begin. Not to mention that he had already washed up in preparation for Grell’s arrival and did not want to greet her reeking of death and embalming fluid. But there was no other choice; he really couldn’t keep a fresh corpse upstairs.

Grumbling to himself, he pushed the lid off the casket and bit back a shout of laughter. Grell lay motionless, a rose clasped in her folded hands, clad in a red satin and black lace corset and matching French knickers. She wore black stockings tied with red and black garters and a pair of black pumps with outrageously high heels. Her hair was swept into and elaborate up-do with ringlets cascading over one shoulder.

“Oh my!” he said softly. “This is a most satisfactory corpse!”

“What did you just say?” she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Very satisfactory, indeed,” he murmured, capturing her mouth.

She returned his kisses hungrily while her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his robes. “There’s plenty of room in here, darling. Why don’t you join me?”

He unwound her arms from his neck. “Just allow me to lock the door and lower the blinds. There are too many about here who have odd notions as to how I entertain myself.” Having done so, he stripped off his robes.

“Leave the boots on.” She licked her lips. “You look divine.”

“And you look ravishing,” he laughed as climbed in.

The coffin was not wide enough to allow them to lie side-by-side, but she straddled his hips easily and took his face between her hands. “These next weeks are going to be dreadful, I know. I thought we deserved a little treat.” She pressed her lips against his hairline, drawing her tongue along his scar. “My beautiful, scarred darling,” she whispered. “I love you so very much.”

As she knelt over him, Undertaker reached out to push down her knickers and cup her buttocks, lightly scratching his nails across her smooth skin. He laughed softly when she began to hum with pleasure and continued his gentle teasing along the backs of her thighs above her stockings. She was slender, but strong and sleekly muscled, reminding him of a Greek statue of a youth he had seen many years earlier. But she was warm and soft, her translucent skin like marble touched by the dawn.

Her lips travelled across his face and down his neck. He could feel her tongue tracing his collar bone and her teeth grazing the skin of his chest. She was fire and wine. She scorched and soothed him as she lapped his belly and crept down the coffin to flick at him with her tongue. She licked his sack with slow, deliberate stokes, leaving a trail of moisture that prickled as it cooled and grew warm again as her breath passed over his flesh.

The moist heat of her mouth surrounded him. He could feel her tongue teasing the ridge below the head of his shaft, driving him mad as he restrained the urge to push forward. One hand cupped him, skillfully massaging his testes while she stroked the sensitive skin behind. He was lost in a sensuous haze, unable to hold back his soft groans. Her mouth opened wider and she swallowed him completely.

Her teeth provided a dizzying edge of danger; the awareness that he had to exert iron control over himself while surrendering all control to her intoxicated him. One of her fingers slithered further back to tease his opening and slowly slipped in, moving carefully as her mouth and throat tugged on him. She was greedy, filling him and swallowing him and he was powerless to do anything but lay back in a daze of pleasure.

She was flushed rosy pink; her eyes were fixed on his face. One of the elaborately piled curls on her head slipped, sending a lock of hair over her eyes. With an adorable scowl, she impatiently pushed it away, but a hairpin fell and another curl spilled down.

Releasing him, she raked it back, muttering, “Bother!”

“Come here,” Undertaker laughed softly, drawing her up to him. He began to pluck the pins from her hair and spread her locks out with his fingers. “You look lovely, but I love you best with your hair streaming wildly about you. Do you remember the night William restored your Death Scythe?”

“Of course. It was the night of the fires. You gave me a good scolding.”

“We reaped side-by-side that night. I shall never forget how you looked: so filled with glee with your hair unfurling behind you like a scarlet banner. It’s wild and beautiful and brave – just like you.”

Grell shook out her hair and bent over him, surrounding them in a curtain of crimson. “If things do not turn out well,” she quietly, “please remember that you have made me happier than I have ever been in my entire existence.”

He held her tight and nestled her head beneath his chin. He wished he could reassure that everything would be fine, but he knew she had a tremendous battle to fight. “My dearest,” he murmured, “you heard the Messenger. You are precious to more than just me. You will not be alone, but no one will fight for you harder than I. I will shake the pillars of Heaven or descend to the depths of Hell to keep you by my side.”

She sat up, smiling bravely, but he could see her lips were trembling. “I’d back you against the Prince of Darkness any day,” she said, reaching under the satin pillow to produce a bottle of oil. Pouring it liberally over him, she rose on her knees.

“It’s all right, darling,” she averred. “I made sure I was ready beforehand.”

Her cheeks turned pink and he felt himself twitch, picturing the scene. She guided him into her and sank down slowly. He was watching her carefully; she showed no sign of distress. Her brows knit together and she frowned momentarily, but, as he completely filled her, she gave a long sigh and her expression cleared.

She began to rock unhurriedly, setting a languid, dream-like rhythm. Undertaker wrapped his hand around her and matched her tempo with slow, careful strokes. He was surrounded by her silken warmth, held captive in a velvet snare. She was a siren beckoning him to hurl himself into a storm-tossed sea of desire. She was Lorelei enticing him across the waters with her streaming hair. She was a green-eyed Circe who had bound him to her side with a powerful enchantment. She was Medea, terrifying and beautiful in love and hate. He was in her thrall, helpless to resist her since the day she had attempted to throttle him in this very room.

Her head was thrown back; she had closed her eyes and braced her hands on the side of the coffin, intent on gaining her rapture. She rose and fell slowly, enthralled by her own need, folding the ecstasy into herself. She was very near, he could tell. He could feel the sudden tension in her shaft as it throbbed beneath his hand. She went still and spilled forth with a soft cry.

Grell slumped against him for a moment and began to move again. This time Undertaker grasped her haunches and set the pace. He deliberately drove his hips forward, savouring the sensation – the warmth, the tightness, the ever-increasing delight of her. Waves of pleasure washed over him and his loving became deeper and fiercer until he shuddered and broke, releasing his essence into her.

“My dear,” he said, once he had caught his breath, “that was-“

“Most satisfactory?” she giggled.

“Indeed.” He climbed out of the coffin and steadied her as she stood and stepped out. Dropping to a squat, he untied her garters and rolled down her stockings and drew off her shoes before scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the back.

“Can you help me?” she asked, presenting her back to him.

“Of course.” He untied her corset strings and busied himself with the many hooks. “How on earth did you get it on?”

Sighing with relief as it fell to the floor, she answered, “I have a girl from Maintenance to clean my flat. She helped me with the corset and I paid her a little extra to help with my hair.” She began to rummage through her case, pulling out several items.

Undertaker cleaned himself quickly and donned his robe. “I have a supper prepared for us.”

“Give me a few minutes to wash up.”

She joined him just as he was serving up two generous helpings of cottage pie, wearing a rose-printed wrapper and matching slippers. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid; she looked disarmingly young.

“Oh, this smells delicious,” she exclaimed. “I’m ravenous!” Studying the table, she spoke softly, “And you set the table so prettily. Thank you, darling.”

“You like pretty things,” he said, handing her a plate patterned with violet pansies. “There is very little in my home or life that could be considered such, but what I have, I will share with you. I want you to be happy here,” he added simply. He hoped she might consider making a home with him one day, but knew it was not yet the time to speak of such things – not with the dangers she had to face.

She patted his hand and smiled. “It’s lovely. And so are you. I’ll never understand why some smart girl in the Shinigami didn’t snap you up years ago. Or did one at some point?”

“I will not pretend that you are the first woman I have ever loved. One day, I will share that history with you.”

“I should hope so,” she grumbled as she began to eat. “Not that I’m jealous, but if you are going to probe into my past, it is only fair. So, were you the Casanova of the Dispatch? Be honest for I shall ask Clarence.”

“Not quite,” he laughed, “but I had my share of adventure and I see I shall have to offer Clarence a hefty bribe to keep his mouth shut.”

They finished their meal and, afterwards, she helped him carry the casket down to his workshop, agreeing that it might not be appropriate to offer it for sale. She glanced at a body on the embalming table. “I know him!” she exclaimed. “He was one of mine.”

“Was he? I can usually recognize your handiwork.”

“Ronald did the actual reaping, but I was there. It was from last night.” She began to laugh. “I’ll bet his family have a very different story to tell, compared to his record.”

“I’m sure they do, but is it that terrible to remember the good of people? ‘The evil that men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones.’”

“So let it be with Caesar,” she finished the quote as she followed him up the stairs. “Did you reap Shakespeare’s soul as well as Robin Hood and Marie Antoinette?”

“I did not.” He poured her a cup of tea. “Clarence did.”

“Too bad I’m not the scholarly sort. If I started haunting the Library, I’d be far more interested in the scandalous details in the records.”

He watched her curl up in a chair and pick up a book and began to address a stack of funeral cards.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He explained the custom of sending cards to family and acquaintances of the deceased. “It is my least preferred responsibility,” he said, “but it is part of an undertaker’s job.”

She sat at the table next to him and took up a pen. “Pass some over here. I’ll help.”

In a very short time, she had produced a large pile of cards, addressed in impeccable copperplate script. He stared at them in astonishment. “My dear, your accomplishments amaze me more every day. I should employ you as a secretary.”

“If you’d been whacked across the knuckles by your schoolmaster as often as I was, you would learn to write neatly.”

“Were you highly educated?”

She was silent for a moment, tapping the pen against the table. “I think so. I was sent to school when I was quite young. Father hoped it would toughen me up,” she added with a wry grin. “The Asylum was only slightly worse.”

Undertaker felt a pang of compassion, trying to imagine what it must have been like for her, picturing a sensitive, slender, awkward youth thrown into the pit of a public school.

“Please, don’t waste your sympathy on me over that,” she snapped, looking annoyed. “If the late Earl Phantomhive hadn’t perished, little Ciel would likely be getting buggered and beaten at Eton right now.” She yawned. “Darling, do you mind if I turn in? I have a rather unpleasant job tomorrow.”

“Of course not, my dear. We have both had a very long day.”

“I’ll say,” she called from the bedroom as he doused the lights. “What with meeting a Messenger and that endless walk through the Library.”

“And our very enjoyable diversion this evening.” He discarded his robes and began to unbuckle his boots while she climbed into the bed. “Do you have a child tomorrow?” he asked.

“No,” she sighed. “One of us.”

“Oh dear,” he said. Reviewing those records was difficult for all of them; how much harder must it be for Grell, who remembered so much.

She spoke quietly in the darkness. “Do you remember anything about your last moments? How you did it?”

“No, but I think there was water. Just a feeling I have. And you?”

She lifted her arm and drew a finger across her wrist. “It was such a relief; I was floating away.”

“Were you angry when you arrived here?”

“Confused. What about you?”

“I’m not sure. It was so long ago.”

“Why will they not talk to us about this when we first arrive?” she cried in exasperation. “I was so puzzled and frightened. William was, too; I can see that now, but he pretended otherwise. Now Jonah – he was angry.”

“Who is Jonah? You mentioned him once before.”

“A trainee who was culled. Heavens but he hated me, but he hated everyone. They think I’m mad…” Her voice trailed off. “I have never seen anyone as angry and full of hate as he was – except the Phantomhive brat.”

“No wonder he was culled.” It was useless to try to reason with her where Ciel was concerned, he knew. “Now, get some rest. You have to meet with Clarence tomorrow before you begin your work.”

Grell rolled onto her side and pulled his arm across her. “I still don’t understand how sharing my memories with Clarence is supposed to help.”

“He is going to attempt to recreate your record. He will cross-reference everything you tell him with the records in the Library. I believe he has your parents’ records right now. The Librarian has put several clerks at his disposal to retrieve any scrap of information. Anything you remember, no matter how slight, is of importance.”

“Suppose he succeeds. Will there be two records? Will there suddenly be two of me?” She began to giggle nervously. “Imagine that!”

Undertaker pulled her close. “There is only one Grell Sutcliff.”


	6. Chapter 6

_March 25, 1890_

Grell arrived at Clarence’s shop the following morning to find him sweeping up glass from a broken window.

“A group of hooligans attempted to break in. I might not be as young as I once was, but I assure you they got the worst of it,” he chuckled.

“But you’re hurt!” she fussed. “Let me get something for that cut on your forehead. It looks quite nasty.”

He allowed her to clean the wound, but it was already fading.

“Now, I suppose our friend explained what I am trying to attempt,” he said, refusing her offer to make him a cup of tea.

“He did, but I still don’t understand entirely.” She bustled around, picking up paper and mopping up spilled ink.

“I have begun with your birth. By examining your mother’s record and that of the midwife and some other servants in your home, I have been able to recreate that part of your life. Tell me, what is your earliest memory? No matter how insignificant it might seem.”

She thought for a moment. “One of my father’s dogs had tracked mud all through the entrance hall. The maid started crying because she had just cleaned it and would have to do all over again. I was coming down the stairs. I could barely reach the bannister, I was so small.”

“Do you remember the maid’s name? Do you remember what happened next?”

She searched her memory. “No. Her name is gone, but the dog was called Rufus. Too bad animals don’t have records,” she grinned.

“Perhaps they do,” he said. “The Higher Up is infinite. We are only a tiny part of a limitless Creation.”

Grell pressed her thumb and forefinger against her eyes. “I liked her. She usually sang while she worked. I wanted to help her clean up the mess. I had great fun sloshing the water all over the floor with her until my nurse came down and scolded me. I was soaked to the skin.”

“You were a frail child. No doubt she was afraid you would get sick.”

“I suppose so. Father always complained that I had been coddled too much as a child.”

“Did you hate your father?” he asked.

“No,” she said thoughtfully. “I was angry that he couldn’t love me as I was. I guess I thought I hated him sometimes, but I see now that I was a terrible disappointment to him. He wasn’t a bad man, but he couldn’t understand me.” She reflected for an instant. “But I couldn’t understand him, either. I’ve seen enough records now to realize that how hard it must be for a parent whose child isn’t what they hoped for.”

“Perhaps you should view this as a gift. You have been given a chance to come to terms with the things that caused to you to end your previous existence.” She looked so doubtful, he burst out laughing. “But now is not the time for a philosophical discussion, my dear. You will have an eternity to understand.”

At his request, she described a few more incidents from her childhood. “Why are these memories not being snatched away?” she asked.

“Because whoever has your record feeds on anger and fear. Happy and harmless memories are of no interest. Tell me, whenever a memory is ripped from you, is it not of a time when you were afraid or unhappy?”

“Usually,” she admitted. “The night of the fires, Undertaker said that creature fed on despair and misery. The records were blank. Is that what is happening to me? Am I being erased to feed some other-world fiend?” she cried, a hysterical note entering her voice. “I have already begged Undertaker to end it. Will you do it?”

“Our friend loves you, but I promise I will not allow your soul to fall into the hands of a demonic being. If we have exhausted all possibilities, if there is no hope, I will reap what remains of your soul myself.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Grell and Ronald glumly approached the location of their final collection of the day. The suicide had been difficult for both. The record had been unremittingly gray – depression spiralling into despair while maintaining an outward show of normality.

“Do you think it was like that for William?” Ronald muttered. “Never showing anything; never sharing how he felt.”

The same thought had occurred to her. “Probably.”

They were on the banks of the River Lea in north London. A walksman, who had been tippling on the job, was about to trip and fall into the water and drown.

“Ugh,” Ronald grumbled, “we’re going to have to wade in after him.” He glanced down at his white shoes and frowned.

“I don’t fancy spoiling my shoes, either. From now on, William will have to send reapers who aren’t as stylish as we are on these jobs,” she grinned.

The man stumbled and fell. Grell summoned her Scythe and brought it to life when the stench of demon surrounded them.

“ _I’ll take this one, Grell,_ ” a voice whispered in her head.

“Ronald!” she screamed. “Get the soul, quickly!”

She whirled about, slashing her Scythe with deadly precision through the sinister figure behind her. He fell to the ground and a record spooled out. This was no demon – simply a young man, no more than twenty, but the record was incomplete: blurred and smudged, peopled by shadowy beings and blank in many places.

Ronald was beside her as the last of it unwound. “I smelled it, too. There was a demon here. I’d swear to it. But who is he?”

“Probably some transient soul under his control, sent as a distraction,” she said, trying to keep herself under control before the younger reaper. “You did well to get the record so quickly. I’ll handle the paperwork concerning this fellow myself.”

“You sure, Senpai?” he asked anxiously. “He’s not on the list. That usually means overtime,” he added gloomily.

“I will deal with it,” she said firmly. “I’m sure you have plans for the rest of the evening, so get moving. I hear the new girl in filing hates to be kept waiting.”

They argued for a moment longer, but Ronald finally opened a portal and disappeared. Grell leaned against a tree, no longer able to repress the tremors that shook her from head to foot, sure that the unfortunate youth on the ground had been sent as a message to her.

XXXXXXXXX

Undertaker’s rooms were empty when she portalled in. Without thinking, she burst into the shop itself and stopped short at the sight of Sebastian and Ciel. Recovering herself quickly, she ran across the room to wrap her arms around Sebastian. “Bassy, my darling!”

He flung her aside while Ciel grumbled, “Why are you always here these days?”

“Don’t you know?” she trilled. “It’s the Annual Grim Reapers’ Convention and Ball next month. Undertaker and I are on the committee together. Do say you’ll come, Sebby dearest. I have a ravishing gown and we can dance the night away!” She grasped him and began to whirl him around the room. “You see little one. This is how to dance.” Sebastian pushed her away impatiently while she continued to waltz with an invisible partner. “1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3…” she chanted.

“In fact, I am pleased to see you, Grell,” Sebastian said imperturbably.

She came to a sudden stop. “You are?” she said so disbelievingly that Undertaker began to laugh.

“Her Majesty has requested that my young master investigate a certain matter. You might be of assistance since you were near the scene. A man was found, quite torn to pieces, two nights ago, outside of the residence where you were collecting a soul.”

“I hope you are not implying I had anything to do with it,” she said, putting her nose in the air.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Ciel said, picking up her red and black garter from the floor.

Grell exchanged a look with Undertaker, whose lips were twitching and dared to glance at Sebastian, who was looking from one to the other with an expression of complete astonishment.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “You were nearby,” he said. “Did you or your partner see anything?”

“Yes,” she finally said. “There was a demon there that night. Perhaps _you_ might know more about it.”

“If what you are saying is true, he made a very poor job of it. We have seen the remains, but it is useful information. Thank you,” he managed to add.

She glared at Ciel until he said, “Um, yes – thank you.”

“You are so welcome,” she crooned, patting him on the cheek and laughing as he shied away. She pranced over to Sebastian and twined her arms around his neck. “Perhaps we could step into the back and you could express your thanks privately,” she purred.

She felt a sudden tap and saw a pair of pruning shears poking her shoulder. “William!” she cried. “And Ronald,” she added in dismay, “are you here for the committee meeting?”

“Committee meeting?” William adjusted his glasses. “Honestly, sometimes I think you are mad!”

“Oh my!” Undertaker chortled. “This is turning into quite an assembly. I had better go put the kettle on.”

“I’m sorry, Senpai,” Ronald said, scuffing his foot on the floor, “I was ordered by one of the Seniors to report directly to William if anything unusual happened.

“Come with me, little lord,” Undertaker said, taking Ciel by the shoulder. “We’ll start the tea. Things might get quite explosive out here.”

William stared after his retreating back and looked from Sebastian to Grell. “I don’t know how he puts up with you. You’re enough to drive a man insane.”

“Maybe he likes being insane,” she giggled. “But really, I was going to give a full report tomorrow morning. There was no need for Ronald to go running to you and spoil his evening.” She scowled at him.

“Michaelis,” William said, ignoring her, “Grell had an encounter with a demon this evening. Your sort seem to be rather thick on the ground lately and one of them seems to have a particular interest in Agent Sutcliff. Would you know anything about this?”

“We usually work alone,” he said. “But, if what you are saying is true, it might be useful to join our investigations.”

Grell sighed. “Then you might as well know they’re going to find another body.” She began to hand out mugs of tea from the tray Undertaker carried in. “I am responsible for this one,” she said relating the events of the evening to Undertaker, Sebastian and Ciel.

“From what you say, this individual is not a fully-formed demon,” Sebastian said. “The man you killed this evening had only part of his soul eaten. And it would explain the mess from two nights ago.”

“Will he grow stronger?” William asked.

“He will if he is able to consume enough souls – even partial ones will fortify him.”

“But why would he go after you, Grell?” Ciel asked. For once, he was not staring at her with his usual disdain. “I have seen you in combat. Wouldn’t he be very foolish to attempt to take you on?”

“I wondered the same thing.” She could feel Undertaker’s eyes on her, warning her to be silent about her missing record. “Would a reaper’s soul strengthen him fully?”

“Yours would and more,” Sebastian said, his eyes gleaming red. “A soul such as yours would be a perfectly seasoned meal.” For an instant, his jaw went slack and the tip of his tongue was visible at the corner of his mouth. “One well-worth waiting for.” His eyes slid across Ciel to meet hers.

“What the hell are you saying, demon?” Ronald yelled, crossing the room to grasp Sebastian’s tie.

William turned to Grell and bellowed, “You see where your ridiculous flirtation with this demon has led? Why can’t you behave?”

Undertaker banged his mug on a casket. “Enough!” he shouted. “Sebastian has no intention of eating Grell’s soul. Do you, my dear?”

“Of course he doesn’t,” she cried. “He was teasing; fair enough considering what I put him through.” She laughed nervously, “But I do feel like the belle of the ball with four handsome men fighting over me.”

“Quite,” Sebastian said, releasing himself from Ronald’s grip. “I would suggest that I pay a visit to the river bank after I have seen my young master safely home and dispose of the body. There is no need to have the police involved and it will give me an opportunity to investigate. The record told you nothing of who he was?”

Grell shook her head.

“Perhaps I will be able to discover something. Come along, young master,” he said. “It is quite late.” He placed his hand on Ciel’s shoulder and guided him towards the door.

“Night-night, Sebby,” she called after him. “Lovely to see you again.”

Sebastian closed the door behind him, but not before they heard Ciel exclaim, “Really Sebastian! What was the meaning of that extraordinary comment you made?”

She could feel her bravado fading, but stuck out her chin and said, “Now Ronald, you go home. You too, William. And please don’t drop by unannounced like that. Heaven knows what we might have been up to.” She grinned as Ronald flushed.

“Righto!” he grinned backed at her. “We’ll knock next time.”

As soon as Ronald vanished, William approached her while she gathered up half-drunk mugs of tea and placed them on the tray. “Do you really believe Michaelis can be trusted to help?” he asked.

“In this instance, yes. If only because our needs and the boy’s are the same.”

“And I don’t think his pride would allow him to be bested by what he clearly believes to be an unexceptional demon,” Undertaker put in.

“Charming,” Grell grumbled. “Only a second-rate demon could be interested in my soul.”

“No Grell,” William said softly, “your soul is dear to many, more than you realize.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “But it is late. I must go and I promise not to drop in without warning in the future,” he added with a faint smile, before opening a portal.

She carried the tray to the back while Undertaker locked the door. By the time he joined her, she had discarded her coat and had wilted into a chair by the fireplace. “I’ll wash the cups tomorrow before I leave,” she said. “I’m absolutely drained right now.”

“My poor dear,” he said, “let me fetch you a brandy. I think you could use one.”

Accepting the glass with a murmur of thanks, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “That was quite a little gathering, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed.” He took the chair opposite her and sipped his own drink. “I have been thinking about your pursuer. I think he may be one of us.”

“A Shinigami!” Her eyes flew open. “But it had to be a demon! I’m sure. Even Ronald agreed.”

“We know very little about how demons are formed, but some believe they are of a similar race to us.”

“Don’t say that to William,” she said with a weak laugh. “He wouldn’t be at all pleased.”

“I suppose not, but it might shed some light on how he was able to gain possession of your record. Reapers’ records are very strictly controlled.”

“I’ll say. “ She set aside her glass. “The Head Librarian acted like I had demanded an audience with the Higher Up when I asked to see my record and Jonah’s.”

“Why Jonah’s? I understand why you wanted to see your own.”

“Because he had just been culled. I knew I was in danger of the same thing and William had said unsuitable trainees were sent straight to Hell.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “Poor William. He was just as frightened as I was; I realize that now.”

“You do know that is just a ridiculous rumour,” Undertaker said. “Those unsuitable for reaping are usually transferred to other branches.”

She sighed. “I do now, but he simply disappeared.”

“If he was as unstable as you claim, he was likely sent to the Asylum.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed softly. “How dreadful! I wouldn’t wish that place on my worst enemy. It’s barbaric and cruel the way they refuse to tell us anything when we first arrive. I shall never understand.” She began to grow agitated. “They tell us nothing! You claimed that we are selected as reapers; there must have been something worthwhile in him, but instead of trying to discover what it was and cultivate it, they cast him aside when he seemed like too much trouble. It could have been _me_! There are plenty who believe I have no business among the Shinigami,” she cried.

“My dear,” he said, “you must stop believing that. You are bold and outrageous; you have committed some dreadful crimes, but you _are_ one of us and the Shinigami will face down a legion of hell spawn before surrendering one of our own.”

“And what if it is one of us who is doing this?” She crossed the small space between them to crouch at his feet and bury her head in his lap.

He stroked her hair gently, but his eyes blazed. “Then he will wish that he had been merely sent to Hell.”

XXXXXXXXXX

_April 2, 1890_

Undertaker returned to his shop early one afternoon a week later to find a small crowd gathered outside. A severe outbreak of influenza had kept Grell and, in consequence, himself busier than usual for the past several days. Grell and Ronald had worked without stopping for more than three days, but had reported no unusual activity.

The door was sagging on its hinges, he discovered when he pushed his way through.

“Old spook’s probably richer than Croesus,” mumbled one of the group.

“Richest man in the area, most likely,” said another. “Folks is always dying.”

“P’raps it was body snatchers,” put in a third.

The passage of the Anatomy Act almost sixty years earlier had put an end to most of the activities of the Resurrection Men, but old legends were slow to die. “I assure you all I had no one to steal at present. Calm yourselves on that score.” He really didn’t want rumours of grave robbers terrorizing London to start, nor did he want the police interesting themselves too deeply in the comings and goings of his establishment.

“There is very little worth stealing in here,” he insisted to the officer who followed him inside. He surveyed the shop in dismay. “Obviously, he saw that for himself and took it out on my stock.” Several caskets had been turned over and the contents of his shelves had been swept to the floor.

“They was toffs,” said one of the men outside the shop. “Two or three of them – dressed real nice with posh voices.”

It was most likely a group of bored young aristocrats in their cups, who thought it would be an adventure to break into an undertaker’s shop. He said as much to the policeman.

“As you can see, the door to my workroom is intact and nothing of value has been taken.” The silver coffin plates and ornamental crosses were untouched as were all the valuable metal handles on the coffins. “Please do not waste your time on the work of a group of young men merely intent on mischief.”

The police officer seemed to be quick enough to agree with him; there was enough real crime to worry about in London. He would question the onlookers, he said, and be on his way.

Things were worse in the back. All of the pretty flower-patterned china he had taken out for Grell’s use had been smashed and, most annoying to him, his favourite brown earthenware teapot and biscuit jar. Grell’s possessions were strewn about, but her silver-backed hairbrush and mirror were safe. In all, it was nothing that could not be set to rights with a few hours work, he thought as he began clearing up.

“Darling! What on earth happened here?” she cried an hour later when she portalled into the back. “Are you all right?” She flung her arms around his neck.

“I was not even here,” he reassured her. “Some youngsters looking for amusement, I suspect.”

“Really! What is this city coming to? Poor Clarence had to deal with the same thing a week ago. Perhaps Her Majesty should set her watchdog on it,” she said as she snatched the broom away from him.

“It’s happened once or twice in the past. Some silly group of boys who have been reading about the Hellfire Club – I gave them such a fright they ran,” he chortled as he rummaged through a box of doorknobs and hinges. “Drat! I don’t have any suitable for the door. I shall have to step out to the iron-monger to get some.”

“You run along, then. We don’t want people walking in on us,” she grinned. “I’ll keep tidying up and make us some tea if you have another pot.”

He pulled down a green Spode teapot emblazoned with the image of Queen Victoria to commemorate her Golden Jubilee. “Tea won’t taste the same,” he grumbled, “but it will have to do.”

“How patriotic of you, darling,” she giggled and began to hum Rule Britannia as she continued to sweep.

After examining the door carefully, he set out. A few steps past his shop, he felt a tug on his robe and glanced about to see a small boy.

“Sir,” he said. “I saw them what broke into your shop.”

“Did you now?” Children so rarely spoke to him, he was almost at a loss for words. “Did you tell the policeman what you saw?”

“’Course not. Police is useless,” he stated, puffing his thin chest out. “But I got a name for you if only I could remember.” He rubbed his thumb against his fingers.

Undertaker chuckled and dug into his pocket for a coin. “Indeed? Would a shilling help you remember it?”

The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded and extended his hand.

“But be very careful before you speak,” he said. “To accuse an innocent man is a very grave crime and to take payment for false information is worse. Would you care to visit my shop and I’ll show you what happens to those who do such things?”

“N-no sir,” the boy insisted. “I swear what I got to say is true. There was four. They was all wearing posh clothes. One of ‘em kicked in the door, easy as could be, and waited outside. The others was dead scared of ‘im, you could tell ‘e was the boss.” He held out his hand.

“And you heard his name?”

“Yes sir.” The shilling vanished into his pocket. “They called him Jonah.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Impossible!” William exclaimed. “What you’re suggesting is impossible! How could a former trainee – one who was culled – be behind this? Grell and Ronald swear there was a demon. Our own investigations suggest demon activity.”

“Perhaps he has become one. We know very little about how demons come about.”

“That’s true, boss,” Ronald put in. “Maybe we need to talk to Sebastian.”

“Honestly Ronald! As if Michaelis would share such information!”

“Clarence and Alec will be here shortly,” Undertaker said. “Alec is a Senior; he might know more of this than we do. He is going to retrieve this Jonah’s record and any other information about him stored in the realm.”

“Oh dear!” Grell spoke for the first time since Undertaker had returned with the boy’s story and informed her that he had summoned William and the others. “Most of your mugs are smashed. We won’t be able to offer any tea. I’ll just pop out and buy some more. And I’ll get a tin of biscuits, too. It’s terribly rude not to be able to offer anything to our guests.”

William caught her by the arm as she reached for her coat. “Grell! How can you be thinking about tea at a time like this?”

“What would you have me think of, dear?” she asked in a brittle voice. “That a classmate of ours – one who was considered even madder than me – has somehow assumed demonic power? That he’s been nursing his hatred of me for a century? That he’s out there with a band of followers, ready to harm those I care about, so he can eat my soul?” Her voice rose to a shriek as shook him off. “Ronald!” she shouted, “At least come and help me pick up some of the mess in front. It’s disgraceful to think of a Senior coming here with the place in this state!”

“Yes Senpai,” he said, meekly following her.

“Let her be,” Undertaker ordered William, “and tell me what you remember about Jonah.”

“He hated Grell,” William finally said. “He hated everyone, but no one more. Grell made a fool of him in combat training – completely decimated him every time. He was a bully; he did everything he could to make everyone miserable.”

“And knowing Grell, she fought back with everything at her disposal.”

“Indeed. You know how outrageous Grell can be. They had a dreadful fight – worse than any Grell had with me and he began to make the most awful threats about what he was going to do. He was mad,” William concluded with a sigh.

“He was,” said a voice behind them.

A portal had opened and Clarence and the Senior appeared.

“He should never have been selected,” Clarence stated.

“So you cast him out,” Grell hissed from the doorway. “You threw him away like an old handkerchief.” Her eyes began to glitter. “Do you know what I did to those women who threw away their children like so much refuse?”

“Grell! Be silent!” William ordered. “You are not helping matters by making such…” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

“Such mad statements?” Her voice rose dangerously as she poked him in the chest. “It could have been me. There are enough who say it should have been me. You spent years threatening me with the Asylum. He was probably terrified and angry like me. Like you!” she snarled, pushing her face close to his and baring her teeth. “Just for once, admit that you were as confused and scared as I was!” She reached up and raked her nails across his face, laughing wildly as he flushed an angry red.

“All right!” William shouted, grasping her by her shoulders and shaking her. “I was! Are you happy now?”

“Senpai! Boss!” Ronald tried to get between them. “Stop it!” He looked desperately around the room. “Isn’t anyone going to help?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” said Undertaker, who was choking with laughter.

Finally, Clarence stepped forward and took firm hold of her. “Grell, my dear, please calm down. You have every right to be frightened and upset. The Dispatch has made many mistakes, it would seem, and you are paying for them.”

She crumpled against him, breathing heavily, and allowed him to lead her to a chair. “Sorry about that, sir,” she mumbled to the Senior. “I’m not quite feeling myself right now.”

“Oh yes you are!” William muttered, glaring at her.

Undertaker was still trying to control his laughter. “I think this might call for something stronger than tea. Ronald, help me find enough glasses for everyone.”

Everyone waited in uneasy silence while Undertaker and Ronald distributed small glasses of whiskey. After swallowing his in one gulp, William finally asked, “So what happened to Jonah?”

“He escaped from the Asylum a number of years ago,” Alec said. As the others stared at him in shock, he admitted, “It is rare and usually the escapee is caught very quickly, but he was successful. We believe he disappeared into the Old Town.”

“I have examined his record,” Clarence added. “He had – a difficult life and his manner of choosing to leave it was particularly horrible. Tragic, but he should not have been selected as a Shinigami.”

“What happens to those of us who are not selected?” Grell asked flatly.

“We are not privy to that,” Alec told her. “I am not avoiding your question, but the Higher Up has not chosen to reveal that to us.”

“Could he have become a demon, somehow?” Ronald asked, rubbing the back of his neck in puzzlement.

The Senior looked grave. “Yes. His hate and anger were that strong. We are not entirely sure how it happens, but the two races are quite similar and it has occurred before. They rarely become fully-formed demons; we are usually successful in vanquishing them before this can happen. This is very closely guarded information.”

“Of course it is,” Grell snapped. “Why should we be told anything that might make our jobs easier or safer, either as trainees or reapers?” She stared balefully about the room.

“But you always answered my questions and told me everything,” Ronald said.

“This is hardly the time for that particular discussion,” William interrupted.

“I agree,” said Undertaker. “We need to find him and put a stop to him.”

“How do you think he got his hands on Grell’s record? How long has he had it?” asked William.

“And how is he stealing Senpai’s memories?”

Clarence spoke. “Grell’s record has been missing for some time. The Council tried to access it at the time of her demotion for her activities as Jack the Ripper. At that time, it was merely believed to be misfiled. The Librarian has confirmed this.”

“There has been a serious breach of security in the Library. The Council will be investigating,” Alec said, repressing a smile as Grell rolled her eyes. “It is not just the missing record. We believe he has a Death Marker. Somehow, when one of Grell’s memories spills forth, he can share it and write in her record – in effect, stealing it.”

“You mean to say he’s in my head!” she shrieked, leaping up and clutching her hair. “I’ve heard enough! There is only one way to find him and none of you,” she raked them all with her gaze, “are willing to do it.” She snatched up her coat and vanished.

“She’s gone to Sebastian!” Ronald cried.

William cleared his throat and spoke, for once ignoring his glasses as they slid down his nose. “I know.”

“Shouldn’t we try to stop her?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it,” Undertaker said. “She’d likely kill you before turning her Scythe on herself.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Grell was lounging on a marble bench in an abandoned summerhouse on the edge of the Phantomhive estate when Sebastian met her.

“Hello Bassy darling,” she said wearily. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to attempt to cover you with kisses at the moment.”

“I suppose I should be relieved. May I ask why you are here?”

“I have some information which may be of use to both our investigations. I am hoping you have some also.”

Sebastian remained impassive. “Where are the others? Why do I suspect that you have decided to take things into your own hands?”

The moonlight brought his sculpted features into sharp relief and turned his hair liquid black, but she was unmoved. “Because I have.”

“And the others will not suddenly burst on the scene? Your dear William, your fierce little watchdog, Knox? What about Undertaker?” he added silkily.

“They wouldn’t dare.” She smiled wolfishly at him, her teeth gleaming in the dark. “There are certain advantages to being mad, you know.”

“Or being thought so.” He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled to her feet so their bodies were touching. “We have worked together in the past. I have occasionally thought a partnership between us might be beneficial. You know I was not teasing you back in Undertaker’s shop.”

She wound her arms around his neck and pulled his face close to her own. “I know, but we have ages before we need to worry about that. Years… possibly centuries.”

“Then we understand one another,” he said releasing her.

“Indeed, we do,” she laughed softly and shook out her hair. “What have you discovered?”

“The young man you cut down on the river bank was wearing a signet ring. He was the younger son of a noble family who fell in with a crowd of similar troublemakers.”

She nodded. “That makes sense. A group of well-dressed young men broke into Undertaker’s shop; they took nothing – simply smashed a few things and generally made a mess. He guessed it was just some young men with too much time and money, looking for excitement.”

“It seems this fellow and his friends have been reading about Sir Francis Dashwood and have been attempting to emulate the activities of the Hellfire Club.”

“Unfortunately, they are becoming a little too successful,” she said with a grim chuckle. “They have found an actual demon to follow.” Still carefully omitting any reference to her lost record, she told him about Jonah.

“Really,” Sebastian said with a slight smile, “it seems like a dreadful waste of both of our talents to be chasing down a group of amateurs like that, but my young master is anxious to put a stop to it for Her Majesty’s sake.”

“And I really don’t fancy having some half-formed demon dogging me and my friends for the rest of eternity,” Grell added with more bravado than she felt. Better not to let Sebastian know what was really at stake. “I should like to find out if he has any other allies.”

“I will admit to a certain curiosity myself. I was not aware that your kind were capable of such a transformation. It is a very interesting prospect.” He tipped her chin up with his forefinger. “I wonder how much hate and anger it would take to turn you.”

“Just think what fun we’ll have over the next few centuries trying to find out, Sebby dear,” she purred. “Such a game we shall have. Just remember, my black king, that the queen is the most powerful piece on the board.”

“And this queen has a knight to protect her,” said a quiet voice behind them.

“Oh hello, darling,” she said. “I do hope you managed to persuade the others not to come.”

“With some difficulty,” Undertaker replied. “Shall we?”

“Where are we going?” Sebastian asked, looking more than a little confused, much to Grell’s delight.

“Somewhere none of us has any business being.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“I came as much for your protection as Grell’s,” Undertaker said as they penetrated the depths of the Old Town. “No doubt you could comport yourself against two or three, but an entire pack of renegade Shinigami, possibly armed, might be more than even you could handle.” The moonlight glinted off the deadly arc of his Scythe. Grell strode on Sebastian’s other side, easily swinging her own Death Scythe back and forth with every step, giggling irrepressibly the whole while.

“I’m sorry darlings,” she laughed as they glared at her, “it’s just too funny – the mad reaper and legendary Undertaker protecting a demon in the hell hole of the realm.”

“I am beginning to find your world and your kind more interesting all the time,” Sebastian said, gazing about at the decaying buildings and rubble-filled streets. “I had no idea such a place existed here or that you would appear so at home in it,” he said to Grell. “Perhaps I should take you for a visit to my realm sometime.”

“Oh Bassy! Really?” Did you hear that?” she cried. “Sebby is going to take me home with him! Were you planning to introduce me to your mother? Because I think it’s a little early for that, dear.” She fluttered her lashes at him.

Undertaker muttered under his breath, “I think I’m beginning to have a certain amount of sympathy for William. You are enough to drive a man mad.”

“Of course I am, darling,” she sang. “That’s why you love me.” She came to a stop. “This is as good a place as any to start.” She led them into the tavern she had visited earlier.

All conversation ceased when they walked in and all eyes turned to the red reaper, the silver-haired legend and the demon who walked between them. “Hello dear.” Grell flipped a coin at the man behind the bar. “Don’t worry; my friends aren’t staying. We just need a few questions answered.”

“You make strange choices in friends, Agent Sutcliff,” he said.

Several of the patrons had crowded close behind them. Grell whirled about. “Please step back,” she said with a smile. “Any of you remember your friend, Gabriel? And that was just me, without this.” She swung her Death Scythe threateningly.

They fell back and two or three drifted away.

She fished another coin out of her pocket and began to toss and catch it. Even in the dim light, the glint of gold could be seen. “What can any of you tell me about a fellow named Jonah?”

Another one or two slunk away and the others looked fearful.

“Really!” Sebastian jeered. “What a pathetic bunch! To be quivering in terror at the mention of the name of a pretender like that.” His silhouette began to blur and the air around him darkened for an instant. Returning to his usual form, he said in his most cordial voice, “Anything you have would be greatly appreciated.”

“In fact, why don’t you spread the word,” Undertaker suggested. “We shall wait here.”

“You said you weren’t staying,” bartender said uneasily.

“We changed our minds,” Grell said sweetly. “Have a drink, darling. The ale is quite good here. What about you, Sebastian? No?” she said as he shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder what your lot do for amusement.”

People began to trickle in, carefully approaching the three with scraps of gossip, but little hard information. Grell paid generously for all of it, admonishing Undertaker to keep a record of what she spent for her monthly expense report. “It’s goodwill,” she insisted. “The more people know we are willing to pay, the better chance we have to learn something worthwhile.”

About two hours later, a woman crept in. She was horribly thin and her green-gold eyes were sunken and dull. Bursting into tears as soon as she caught sight of Undertaker, she turned and fled.

“I know her,” he said softly. “She used to work in the Library.”

“Go after her,” Grell urged. “I think she might know something, but is ashamed to be seen here by you.”

A few minutes later, he led her back in and seated her at a table in the corner. She watched as he fumbled in his robes for a handkerchief and passed it to her. Holding her hand and speaking quietly to her, he coaxed her to smile and talk.

“Do you know who she is?” she asked the bartender.

“Thrown out of the Library. She showed up about a year ago. Does the only thing she can to keep body and soul together and feed her nasty habit,” he sniffed.

“This is turning into a most enlightening visit,” Sebastian chuckled. “At least you have never pretended to be whiter than snow,” he said looking at her with something like admiration. “Did you really attack William with your Death Scythe a while back? I heard someone here say you had.”

“I did. He called me a freak and a whore. You might want to warn your precious young master to watch his mouth around me.”

“My dear Grell,” he smiled darkly at her, “I am beginning to warm to you more and more with each passing moment.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“Are you angry with me, darling?” Grell asked, back at the shop, as she untied her shoes.

“Should I be?”

She wriggled her toes in relief and began to undress. “I did cause a bit of scene here earlier and promptly took off to Sebastian. Not to mention bringing him to the Old Town.”

“I am distressed that you would run to Sebastian on your own. Had you waited until the others had left, I was going to suggest that we approach him together.” He had hung his robes on a hook and was hanging up her waistcoat and trousers. “My dear, you must not be too proud to accept my protection. You are in great peril, we know. Do not put yourself in danger unnecessarily.”

Unfastening her sleeve garters and laying them on the bureau, she unbuttoned her shirt. “Heavens dear, I’m probably safer in the Old Town than either you or Sebby, but,” her voice softened, “I was very glad to see you, when you arrived.”

“And that is another thing,” he said, taking her by her shoulders. “Your relationship with Sebastian has taken a rather dangerous turn. He now finds you – interesting.”

“Maybe so,” she shrugged, “but he will be occupied with the brat for many years to come.” She retreated to the water closet. “What did the girl have to say?” she called over the sound of running water. “I noticed you shared very little with Sebastian.”

“Poor thing,” he said. “She was a bright girl, doing research on the history of the realm, I remember. She foolishly entered the Old Town without protection and had an unfortunate encounter. Jonah, it seems, saved her and she eventually fell under his control.”

“I recall he was a good-looking fellow,” Grell grinned, returning to the bedroom, “but he looked so sour and gloomy all the time.” She sighed. “Even on our first or second day of training, he loathed me.” She pulled a white Battenberg lace nightgown over her head and climbed into bed, stretching luxuriously. “I haven’t slept in three days. I don’t care if they want me to reap the Prime Minister; I’m sleeping in tomorrow and taking a long, hot bath.” She nestled against Undertaker. “Was it she, who got hold of my record for him?”

“Yes,” he said, pulling her closer. “At Jonah’s request, she began to smuggle records from the Library, including yours. She said he became quite excited when he realized yours was incomplete and forced her to steal a Death Marker. After that, she was of no more use to him. By that time, having been under his control for a year or more, she was of no use to the Library, either, and they ejected her.”

“What did he do to her? The barman said she had a habit.”

“The White Poppy. I don’t know if he used it to control her or if she turned to it, but it is leaching her soul. I tried to persuade her to leave the Old Town and seek help, but she refused.”

“Then I shall seek her out myself,” Grell stated. “I know what it is to be under the control of something you cannot resist.”

XXXXXXXXXX

_April 3, 1890_

_Maundy Thursday_

In spite of her stated intention of sleeping late, Grell rose early and left just as Undertaker opened the shop. He had not attempted to dissuade her from returning to the Old Town, realizing that she was determined. Stubborn, fierce and recklessly bold – he knew she would not be swayed from her course.

He could not help but be slightly relieved that she was still gone when Sebastian and Ciel appeared later that morning. He didn’t care for the look of sardonic amusement in the butler’s eyes and realized that, in revealing his feelings for Grell, he had made himself vulnerable to the demon. But he brought useful news.

“I was able to locate one of the young men who broke into your shop,” he said.

“He soiled himself when Sebastian questioned him,” Ciel added.

“Yes,” he said, not bothering to hide his disgust. “You were correct in surmising that they are a group of bored, spoiled noblemen attempting to dabble in devil worship. This Jonah – although he barely qualifies as a demon – was able to recruit them. I have most of their names.”

“Why not go to their fathers?” Undertaker suggested. “This sort tend to be younger sons. Their families would likely pack them off to Europe or university to avoid a scandal. And I suspect Her Majesty would prefer not to have the names of the first families of the land smeared.”

“It may not be that easy. I believe he controls them by means of some narcotic. His own power would not be developed enough to hold that many followers.”

“White Poppy,” Undertaker sighed. “It is quite similar to the opium of this world. Its effects on our kind are devastating. Those young men are as good as dead.”

“He must be stopped,” Ciel insisted. “Her Majesty ordered me to investigate the death near my own home; he is responsible and his activities must not be allowed to continue.”

“The young fool blubbered about the Unholy Feast to take place shortly,” Sebastian grimaced. “These amateurs are so embarrassing. If this creature is planning to attempt to eat Grell’s soul, I would imagine this is what he is referring to.”

“Then we have very little time,” Undertaker said, pacing restlessly about the room.

Ciel looked puzzled. “Why do you think that?”

“Because, young master, he will attempt to profane the holiest day of the year, Easter Sunday.”

“And that is in a few days.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Grell returned late in the afternoon. Undertaker was in the front with clients, so she kept to the back. She handed him a mug of tea when he joined her. “I went to the office this morning,” she grinned. “Everyone stared at me like I had grown a second head. I shall have to ask Ronald what they are saying about me now.”

“Why would you have gone to the office?” he asked, taking a sip.

“To apologize to William, silly.” Suddenly, she became serious. “Darling, we don’t know how things will turn out. I should hate to think that my last encounter with William was like that.”

“You have been gone for quite a while.”

“I know. I took that bottle of brandy I promised to Alec and dropped into the Library. I had a word with the Librarian about that girl. He and Alec have both promised to intervene if she ever returns, looking for help.”

“Did you go to the Old Town?”

“Yes, but I didn’t find her.” She gulped her tea nervously. “I stopped by my flat for a bit. This is for you.” She handed him an envelope. “There are some instructions there if things don’t go well. I don’t have much, but, aside from some keepsakes for Ronald and William, anything I have is to be yours. I know you are not really interested in that sort of thing, but it wouldn’t hurt for you know there is a little property if you need it in the realm.”

He stared at her wordlessly.

“Sebastian was here earlier, wasn’t he?”

“He was.”

She crossed the small space between them and sat at his feet, laying her head in his lap. “Tell me.”

He described their conversation as he stroked her hair.

“So soon?” she whispered. She lifted her head to look at him. “I’m not afraid of dying; I’m not even afraid of having my soul eaten,” she said. “Not anymore. But I am terribly afraid of spending eternity without you. We had so little time, my darling.”

He scooped her up into his lap and cradled her against him. “My love, we shall have plenty of time. It’s just a group of drug-addled boys and a half-made demon. We have faced stronger opponents.”

“A demon who is determined to destroy me and he’s growing stronger all the time. The White Poppy drains their souls; he’s eating them even now.”

“Sebastian believes that they will choose an abandoned church for their – feast. He says it would be typical of that sort.”

Grell smiled faintly. “I imagine he was quite scornful. Jonah really has no style.”

“We must be grateful that he is so predictable. It will make it easier for us to find him. The Dispatch has agents investigating old churches and chapels across the country. Sebastian is looking as well; he claims to have his own resources.”

“If he couldn’t do that much, what sort of a Phantomhive butler would he be?” she giggled.

He took her face between his hands. “My beautiful, brave wild rose,” he murmured, kissing her softly.

She responded eagerly, paying no heed to the bell jingling over the front door and the loud knock on the door to the back.

“Now Senpai,” Ronald complained. “I did knock.”

“I know you did, dear,” she laughed, climbing off Undertaker’s lap, “but I was ignoring you.” She shooed him out of the room. “I’ll be with you in a moment. All our jobs are in London,” she said to Undertaker. “I shouldn’t be too late.”

“Maybe I should accompany you,” he suggested.

“No darling,” she said softly, tracing his lips with her thumb. “I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Please, stay here.”

He nodded slowly and helped her on with her coat, kissing the tip of her nose. “Take care, my dear,” he said, swallowing hard.

Ronald was tapping his foot impatiently when she joined him in the front. “We’re going to run into overtime if you plan to take all day saying goodbye to your fellow.”

The influenza epidemic had loosened its grip on the city, but Grell and Ronald steadily collected souls all afternoon and into the evening. Their final assignment took them to a hospital under construction in the north end of town where a thief, investigating the site, was to be struck and killed by a falling piece of masonry.

The stood in the shadows, observing the man as he poked about. “William reminded me to keep an eye on you about ten times this morning,” Ronald said. “I don’t understand you two. It wasn’t that long ago you were holding your Scythe at his throat.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.”

“Grell,” he said quietly.

She looked at him in surprise; he so seldom called her by name. “Yes dear.”

He swiped his hand across his face. “I don’t know… Things don’t look good for you, do they?”

“No.”

“I – I wanted to say… thank you. You’ve always been good to me, right from the start. I’m sure we’ll be working together for a long time, but… if things don’t turn out well, I’ve always been proud to work with you. And I’ll tell everybody what you’re really like.”

“Stop it, Ronnie,” she sniffed. “You’re going to make me cry and I don’t want your final memories of me to be with puffy eyes and a runny nose.” She squeezed his arm affectionately and directed her gaze to the building site. “It’s time,” she said, bringing her Scythe to life.

She picked her away across the rubble and detritus on the ground and released the record. It was nothing remarkable; she watched it unspool and vanish without comment, calling to Ronald to pass the stamp when she was assailed by the unmistakeable scent of a demon.

A shadowy figure appeared from the darkness, bringing Ronald down, and leapt onto a half-completed wall. Before she could go after him, ten or twelve young men fell on Ronald. They were armed; human weapons could not kill a reaper, but they could injure him severely and she could take no chance that he had not sustained a mortal wound from the demon.

“Bastard!” she shrieked at the laughing figure atop the wall and plunged into slavering pack, slashing madly with her Scythe. Howling with rage, she sliced through several of them, sending the others fleeing. Two were badly wounded. She stood over them panting harshly, tasting her own blood as she chewed on her lip.

She glanced at Ronald. He was bleeding heavily; the injuries were serious, but not fatal. “I think,” she said, placing her foot on the chest of one of them, “that I shall take care of you two slowly.” Her saw roared to life and she set to work, her wild laughter drowning out his cries as she gloried in the blood spilling forth.

“Now you,” she said, turning to the other and holding her Scythe against his groin. “You have a choice. You can go slowly, like your friend here, or quickly.” She began to make shallow cuts across his belly. “Where is the Unholy Feast to be held?”

He gasped two words as she stared at him in shock and brought her Scythe down into his chest with all the force she could muster.

She gathered Ronald into her arms. “Hang on, dear. I’m taking you home,” she muttered as she opened a portal and vanished.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was almost midnight when she reappeared in Undertaker’s shop. “My dear!” he exclaimed at the sight of her, covered in blood and grime, “What happened? Are you hurt?” He attempted to take her into his arms, but she shrugged him off.

“Don’t darling. I’m filthy, but unhurt. It’s Ronald – he’s been injured, but he will recover,” she added quickly. “He’s already mending nicely in the Infirmary with two pretty nurses to look after him.”

Undertaker grasped her by her shoulders. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded.

“Jonah took him down. I couldn’t go after him because of Ronald. A pack of his followers were all over him like wild dogs. A few got away – not many,” she said with a grim laugh. “After I settled Ronnie in the Infirmary, I returned to tidy up.”

He threw his hands up in dismay. “Why did you not come for me? I could have helped you do that much at least.”

“It wasn’t a pretty sight,” she said with a shrug. “But they won’t find any bodies. Not entire ones at any rate.” Her eyes began to gleam. “Now, I can tell you’re dying to offer me a cup of tea or something stronger, but I think I’d like to clean up.”

“Of course.”

He could hear her tuneless humming over the running water. “Is there a washerwoman or bag service near here?” she called a while later. “I don’t mind doing the washing, but I don’t really have time and I have only one or two clean shirts left. Of course, I most likely won’t be needing more-“

He strode into the bedroom to find her nude, sitting on the bed, combing her wet hair. “Grell! Please don’t say things like that,” he begged.

“Why not? It is a distinct possibility.” Suddenly, she smiled and her eyes glittered dangerously. “I had almost forgotten what fun it is to spill so much blood. Take off your robes, darling.”

“What? No! I am not going to make love to you when you are in this state.”

“What better state could there be?” She was fully aroused and reached down to caress herself. “Come and see for yourself what I really am.” Her hand closed around herself and began to move. “We can do anything you’d like. Go on darling, haven’t you ever wondered what it’s like to fuck a freak? Or to be fucked by one? I’ll lick your arsehole until you’re so warm and wet you’ll be begging for it.” She rubbed her finger against the drop at the tip and put it in her mouth.

To his horror, he could feel a response in his groin. Her smile grew wider. “Would you like to hurt me? Or be hurt?” She chewed on her lip until the blood ran down her chin. Dabbling her fingers in it, she drew a line of blood across her belly and sighed voluptuously. “Beautiful, isn’t it? So red…”

“Grell, stop this,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, afraid to touch her, afraid of surrendering to the dark heat that was pooling in his loins.

“Oh no,” she laughed softly, running her hands down her chest. She pinched her nipples hard enough to turn them an angry red and caught her breath. “Come here and dig those nails of yours into me. Cover me with scratches. Claw me and make me bleed.” She was handling herself roughly and pulled her legs up. “Shove your fingers inside me; make it hurt,” she panted.

And, suddenly, he understood.

He climbed onto the bed and pinned her wrists with one hand and held her chin with the other. “Is this what you did after you killed those women? You and Madam Red?” She closed her eyes and tried to jerk her head aside. “Tell me!” he hissed.

“Yes!” she cried. “I didn’t want to hurt her, but she begged me. I loved her!”

“Tell me,” he said again, more gently this time.

In a low voice, Grell told him of the feverish couplings after each killing. “She didn’t want _me_ ,” she choked. “She just wanted me to hurt her. She punished those women and then she punished herself.”

“And then you would go to the Old Town to find men who would treat you the same.”

“Yes,” she said dully. “She couldn’t love me; William couldn’t love me; no one should love a freak like me.”

“I do,” Undertaker said quietly, “but I will not allow you to use me to punish yourself this way or I would be no better than they.”

She tried to describe the bloodlust that had controlled her during those weeks – the red haze of anger as she killed her love for William, the fury that possessed her when she finally understood her love for Angelina was not returned and the cold, unrepentant rage that led her to the Old Town to seduce and slaughter in the months of her suspension. “I thought I was going mad,” she cried. “I guess Jonah had just started taking my memories then. Every time, it was like having a Death Scythe sink into me and tear out my entrails. There were days when I was ready to turn my Scythe on myself.”

For the first time, she wept for Angelina and the women she had killed and, finally, she spoke of the young men she had killed that night. “They were just boys, under the control of that fiend and some beastly drug. I sliced them to ribbons.”

“They had hurt Ronald. They would have turned on you, given the chance. You had no choice.”

“I was savage. I laughed at their screams. I’m no better than Jonah.”

“You love and hate with everything in you. You give yourself to everything with a passion that some call madness. I would have you no different. I would change nothing about you. Do you hear me?” he said urgently as he cupped her face and brushed his lips against her brow. “Nothing.”

“Then you must be as mad as I am,” she murmured against his lips.

“Perhaps.” He pulled her close and drew her leg over him. “But I far prefer it to what the others call sane.”

She rolled on top of him and kissed him hungrily as the clock struck midnight. “It’s Good Friday,” she said quietly. “He’ll be coming for me soon.”

Her eyes were swollen from weeping, her nose was red, her lips were ragged where she had chewed on them and her still-damp hair hung in heavy ropes about her face – so different from the laughing, flamboyant figure he had first encountered, but so vulnerable and lovable as she covered his torso with feverish kisses and desperate touches. Stripping off his garments with his eager assistance her lips and fingers were everywhere as she sought and found unexpected sources of joy and gave herself unstintingly to his pleasure.

She had no shame and showed no reluctance in venturing the boldest caresses until he lay back, consumed by the bliss she brought him. Her mouth was upon him, her tongue stroked him slowly and teased his head as her fingers slipped inside of him. He rose to meet her, drawing his knees up and she dipped her head lower.

She tantalized him with quick darts of her tongue and tormented him with slow lapping strokes against his opening until he was groaning with desire. He could feel her warm breath and the velvet of her tongue on his sensitive flesh as she loved him more intimately than he had ever imagined.

He spread his legs wider, urging her on when she lifted her head. “Would you like me to fill you, as you do me?” she whispered.

“Would you like to?”

She sat back on her haunches, thoughtful for a moment. “I would. I should like to love you with every part of me – to love every part of you.”

He shivered at her words and rummaged on the nightstand until he found a bottle of oil, which he passed to her. “Then do.”

“I’ll be careful, darling, but you must tell me if it gets uncomfortable.” She lowered her head, curtaining her face with her hair. “I’ve never done it to give pleasure – to a male or female. Only pain or punishment.”

“My dear, to repeat your own words to you: I am not made of glass.” But he was amazed at what she had suggested and said as much. “I never imagined that you would be willing to do such a thing.”

Grell took his hand and held it over her heart. “Do you remember saying that I was a lady to you here? You have never made me feel otherwise. I have spent my entire existence feeling repulsive and wrong. For once, I want to love with every part of myself, without shame – to do what I have only done before in anger and madness with love.”

To understand finally that what she had always believed hideous was beautiful and worthy of love, he thought, rejoicing that he could give her this. That he could help erase the memories of the nightmarish couplings which were all she believed she deserved. It might be his final gift to her.

Her oiled fingers slipped between his buttocks and carefully pressed inside while she held him with her other hand. She teased the sensitive ridge below his head with her thumb and moved her hand in a steady rhythm with her fingers. There was some discomfort that faded as she gently coaxed him to relax and open himself to her.

Suddenly, she brushed against his core, sending jolt through him that caused him to cry out. Ripples of pleasure spilled through his entire body and heat throbbed in his loins. She prodded tenderly; he could feel himself leaking, his own essence dribbling down his shaft and stroked him lingeringly. The warmth cascaded through him, pooling in his groin. He was climbing and swooping, borne on a wave of fierce desire. She was his guide and companion; she carried him to the crest of the swell and brought him smoothly to a lull before catching him up to soar again.

He was being filled and stretched as she carefully pushed herself into him; her own cry of delight ringing in his ears. Caught on the sharp edge between pleasure and pain, he lunged upward to meet her, to fold her into himself. She was moaning softly and he rocked his own hips to urge her on, reckless of himself until the maelstrom consumed him entirely. He was plunged into a whirlpool of ecstasy, heedless of any pain as he grasped her haunches roughly and rose to her thrusts. Her hand moved faster about him while she drove forward, buffeting him within, battering against his centre without mercy. Helpless before the rising tide that surged and billowed throughout, he surrendered to the chaos and burst forth with a hoarse groan.

Grell greedily drew every drop from him and ran her fingers through the pearly beads on his belly and chest before putting her fingers in her mouth to taste him. She moved more slowly now, almost withdrawing completely before plunging back. Her eyes were closed and her head was thrown back; her hair streamed wildly about her. She was chilling and beautiful in her passion as she held still, poised on the brink for a moment and collapsed over him with a soft cry.

Undertaker could feel her heart thudding as her sweat-damp chest pressed against his own and wrapped his arms around her. She had carefully eased away from him when her eyes fluttered open. “Be still,” he murmured. “I will look after you tonight.”

He slipped into the water closet and cleaned himself up and returned with a basin of warm water and a soft cloth, with which he gently sponged her belly and sex. Ignoring all the pretty wraps and peignoirs she had brought with her, her folded her into the old nightshirt she had worn the first night she had spent with him and fetched her a tiny glass of ruby port. Her hair was almost dry, but impossibly tangled. He settled himself on the bed behind her and began to draw her brush through her unruly tresses.

Sighing, she relaxed against him and tipped her head back. “Darling, will you talk to me until I fall asleep?” she asked. “I’m not really frightened of what is going to happen, but the silence makes it hard to bear.”

“What is going to happen is that you and I and William – and Sebastian,” he added reluctantly, “are going to find Jonah and put an end to him. We shall retrieve your record and, with Clarence’s aid, make you whole.”

“Will you extract the rest of my soul?”

“I would prefer not to. You are one of a kind; I don’t want to change you in any way. I promise, however, that yours will be the most closely guarded record in the Library.”

“Even more than yours?” she asked with a soft laugh. “You have no idea how badly I have wanted to go look for it.”

“My dear,” he chuckled, “you wouldn’t even know where to begin to search. But when this is over, I will answer any questions you have.”

“Answer one for me now.”

“All right,” he said warily.

“Did you get all your scars in that fight with the demon you told me about?”

“Not all. This, for instance,” he held out his little finger, “was the result of an accident in my first week of training. I was too embarrassed to go the Infirmary immediately. This was the best they could do.”

“Really?” She let out a peal of laughter. “You cut off your own finger in training?”

“There is barely anyone to remember,” he said with a sigh. “And don’t you dare tell or – or I’ll put you over my knee and spank you.”

Her eyes sparkled wickedly. “Do you promise?” she purred. “Because I’d like to see you try.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have a decent night’s sleep until the end of time for fear of what you would do to repay me.”

“What will happen to the rest of those young men under Jonah’s control?” she asked after a moment of silence. “Some of them are not much more than boys.”

“It will depend how far gone they are,” he replied gravely. “There might be a few who can be brought back and restored to their families, but if the White Poppy has done its work on the others… The most merciful thing will be to end it for them quickly.”

“More deaths at my door,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t care – there was a time when I wouldn’t have – but now…”

“You have learned that every soul is precious and must be held dear. It takes most reapers centuries to understand this.”

She placed her glasses on the nightstand and settled back onto the pillows. “Talk to me about what we are going to do when this is all over,” she said quietly. “Let me fall asleep dreaming we have a future.”

He gathered her into his arms and began to whisper to her. “You may have free reign over these rooms and refurbish them to your heart’s content – paint them pink if you like, as long as you leave the shop alone. I shall plant rose bushes in the garden and, on summer evenings, we shall sit together and breathe in their perfume. We shall watch the Guy Fawkes bonfires together this November and eat roast goose and mince pies at Christmas.”

“Oh, it sounds lovely, darling,” she mumbled as she slid into sleep.

In the morning, he would insist that he accompany her on her collections, he thought as he inhaled her fragrance. Surely, the Dispatch would locate Jonah’s hiding place soon.

But, in the morning, when he woke, she was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a not terribly graphic depiction of suicide.

_April 4, 1890_

_Good Friday_

It had changed very little over the past century, but it had scarcely changed in the two hundred years before that. The trees were taller and the stone a little more weathered, but the great house rose majestically above the park where red and fallow deer still roamed. The crenellated towers and tall chimneys were old friends. The long balcony, its railing adorned with statuary still overlooked the gate. Broad stone stairs led to the main entrance, flanked by Ionic columns; the coat of arms was still visible, carved into the keystone of the soaring arch before the door.

During her brief existence in the human world it had been her home. She had fed the deer and played with the dogs on this rolling expanse of green lawn. She had hidden from her nurse in the stable block and fled from her father’s anger to the kitchens and laundry below the stairs.

She craned her neck, squinting at the dazzling light of the sun reflected off the hundreds of glass panes in the many windows that fronted the vast building. The sandstone, torn from the ruins nearby, was warm beneath her hand as she trailed her fingers along the low wall beside the gate. It was a house of solid wealth and luxury, imposing, but not overly embellished; proud, maybe a little arrogant, but welcoming to all. Grell hoped the current inhabitants loved and cared for the house and grounds and people dependent on it as much as her father had.

She gained entrance easily enough and wandered through the hall. The furniture was under covers; the pictures swathed in linen; the residents were not at home. She didn’t need to pull down the covering to know that the huge canvas over the fireplace in the drawing room was a horrific depiction of Salome with the head of John the Baptist. How that picture had terrified her as a child! She lifted a corner of the sheeting protecting the others, reading the inscribed nameplates, until she came to one and tugged it off.

There he was. Her father had been a big, handsome man. She shared nothing with him except the colour of his hair, not visible under the powder he had affected for this portrait. She smiled to herself; Sir Joshua Reynolds had painted her father in a red velvet coat.

Another, smaller picture hung nearby. The frail blonde women was elaborately gowned and the small red-headed child leaned against her knee. She had no memory of sitting for this portrait and wondered how they had kept her still long enough to keep Gainsborough from wanting to strangle her.

Grell could hear voices below – probably the caretakers’ – and knew she must be careful where she ventured. She roamed quietly through the rest of the house: the nursery, the schoolroom where her tutor had struggled to teach her Latin, Greek and mathematics and her mother’s sitting room. None were as she remembered them. She hesitated outside the office, where her father toiled over the management of the estate. It was surprisingly unchanged. The great desk was piled high with papers. Someone still laboured in here; someone still cared about this place and she was glad.

She _had_ loved this house, but not enough to pretend to be the heir her father needed. She remembered quailing before him in this very room, helpless to explain, after she had been sent down from university.

_“A prank’s all very well,” he had roared, “but to be found in the lowest tavern, dressed like some sort of hussy!_ ”

She smiled grimly; obviously, her tastes hadn’t changed.

An amateurish water-colour sat on the desk: two red-headed children playing on the lawns, the scrawled date in the corner indicating it had been painted last year. It gave her a deep sense of satisfaction to know this house was still in the keeping of her kin.

Next, she wandered to the chapel. There was a stained-glass window, inscribed with her mother’s name, that she did not remember and, beneath it, a tiny stone tablet, bare except for the initials G.S. Grell felt her eyes fill with tears; her father had placed that there. Somewhere, beneath his anger and disappointment, he had loved her and grieved when she left this world in his own intensely private fashion and, in that moment, she forgave him.

She would have liked to visit the kitchens where she had spent many happy hours as a child, but did not dare for fear of encountering whoever was caring for the house. Instead, she rambled through the grounds as the sun began to sink: the mill built by Cistercian monks in the twelfth century, the Folly and bridge leading to the water gardens.

As darkness closed around her, she began to shiver, although she was not cold, and set out across the vast estate to the immense ruins on its edge. The soaring arches of the crumbling Abbey towered majestically over the landscape. She made the long walk, through what was once the nave, past the choir and to where the altar once stood. A shadowy figure stopped his restless pacing when she approached.

“Jonah,” she said, “I’ve come to you.”

XXXXXXXXXX

_April 5, 1890_

_Holy Saturday_

“How could you have let Grell slip away like that?” William exclaimed.

Undertaker was too worried to be embarrassed when he admitted that he had been fast asleep. “She has gone to Jonah,” he said. “Your agents have had no luck in locating him?”

“Do you have any idea how many old churches and chapels there are in England?” he asked impatiently as he paced about the shop. “And that is if Sebastian’s assumption is correct.”

“I think it is. A half-made demon, with a group of reckless followers, would definitely choose a church for whatever ritual he is planning. How is young Knox?”

“Recovering well. I had a dreadful time keeping him in the Infirmary this morning. I sent a nurse in to give him a sponge bath.”

Undertaker couldn’t help smiling at William’s words. “Why do I suspect that you are a great deal fonder of the people who work under you than you will admit?”

“Because I am,” he finally said.

“And Grell?”

“Especially Grell,” he said after a long silence. “We have been together since the beginning. I don’t pretend to understand how Grell is, but if anything happened…” He swallowed hard. “I – I’m glad Grell has you.”

“She cares about you very deeply – in spite of the way you’ve treated her over the years.”

William adjusted his glasses. “Honestly! You, more than anyone, should know by now how maddening Grell can be. And here’s another example. To disappear, without a trace, when everyone is worried sick-“

“We need to seek out Sebastian,” Undertaker said firmly. “He has been making his own investigation under the boy’s orders.”

“But he has no idea what is really at stake. That _demon_ ,” he spat the word, “will stop Jonah, but has no need to aid us further.”

“He will,” Undertaker said grimly.

The door to the shop flew open and Clarence strode in, accompanied by a very pale and shaky-looking Ronald.

“Sorry Boss,” he muttered. “I had an idea where this Jonah fellow might be.”

“And a very good one,” Clarence stated. “We’ve been fools! The answer was right there.”

Ronald spoke. “This Jonah sounds as dramatic as Senpai. If he’s planning some ritual to eat her soul, he’d do it someplace she knew. He’s got her record; he knows where she grew up.”

“Where?” Undertaker demanded.

“Suthclyff Abbey. A ruined monastery on the lands of her family’s estate,” Clarence said. “It was given to her ancestor by Henry VIII during the Dissolution.”

“We must go at once!” William exclaimed. “It is Saturday morning already.”

“We must make plans first and contact Sebastian. I agree, we have very little time,” Undertaker said thoughtfully. “I suspect he plans to do this at midnight.” He smiled faintly. “Sebastian is right – he seems quite predictable. Ronald, my dear, I am afraid you will have to remain behind.”

“Try and make me!” he shouted. “As if I wouldn’t come with you to rescue Senpai!”

“We will not be able to help you if you are in any danger,” he replied, “and you are still quite weak.”

He let out a colourful expletive. “I’m stronger than you are, old man!”

“That is enough, Knox!” William ordered, but his expression softened. “You may accompany us; I suspect I would have as much luck keeping you away as I would Grell, if your positions were reversed, but you must take every care. As Undertaker said, we may not be able to help you.”

Ronald snorted, but looked gratified.

“You will be needing these.” William handed Undertaker his spectacles. “I took the liberty of signing them out earlier.”

“How boss?” Ronald asked. “You can’t sign out someone else’s specs; everyone knows that.”

“Maybe I forgot to sign while Pops was distracted.”

In spite of his fear, Undertaker started to laugh. “Oh William! There’s hope for you yet!”

XXXXXXXXXX

“You know, Jonah,” Grell said conversationally as she leaned against a crumbling pillar, “you really are quite lacking style. But you always were. Glowering at me from the altar of a ruined church. That silly throne you’ve got sitting there. Couldn’t you show a little originality?”

“Be quiet you freak!” he shouted as he flew at her.

She leapt nimbly out of his way and stood laughing atop a wall. “So, darling, shall we pass the time until the Unholy Feast tonight playing hide and seek?” She reappeared behind him and flew to rest on a pillar of the transept. “I’ll cover my eyes and count to ten,” she mocked.

He jumped up beside her and grasped her hair with one hand as his fist swung into her face.

The force of the blow rocked her for a moment, but she recovered and bared her teeth at him. “Oh dear. Did no one ever tell you it’s frightfully rude to hit a lady in the face? You haven’t changed at all – still a low-class thug and bully.” Her foot lashed out into his mid-section, sending him flying to the ground.

She fell onto him and summoned her Death Scythe. “Impressive, isn’t it?” she giggled. “I made it myself.”

He rolled away and his own weapon appeared. “You haven’t changed either,” he shouted. “Still stuck-up, laughing at everyone. Thinking you’re better than anyone else.”

“Oh, a demon sword.” She laughed harder. “How quaint!” Sparks flew through the air as the blade crashed against her Scythe. “Don’t you know that fashionable demons today use silverware?”

She broke contact and lunged at him. He feinted to one side, but her blade caught his shoulder and he let out a mighty bellow of rage. Suddenly, they were surrounded by young men, all heavily armed. They couldn’t kill her, she knew and dismissed her Scythe before it could fall into Jonah’s hands as they fell on her.

It was almost dawn when she came around. The pain was severe, but not unbearable; her wounds were healing and she could feel her broken bones knitting back together. Jonah was lounging in that ridiculous throne-like chair he had set up in front of where the altar had once been. Pretending to be weaker than she was, she struggled to sit up.

He kicked her hard in the ribs. “They put me in the Asylum, you know.”

“I know.” She almost felt a pang of sympathy for him. “I’ve been there myself. It’s not a pleasant spot.”

He continued to speak as if he had not heard. “Are you not going to ask how I escaped or became what I am today?”

“Actually, no. I’m not interested in some dramatic speech where you outline all your diabolical deeds and plans. It sounds very dreary.” She covered her mouth as if yawning.

He kicked her again, sending her rolling down the steps. “How dare you? How dare you laugh at me when I hold your soul in my hands?”

Every bone in her body was being jarred by the fall down the steps, but she managed not to cry out. “You have nothing,” she hissed. “You have my record; you can steal my memories and consume them, but you will never have me. You fed on my anger and fear; you have nothing of who I really am – when I loved; who I loved; when I was filled with joy or touched by grace. You know nothing of these things and that is why you were culled. You weren’t fit to be a Shinigami because you turned your face from the Higher Up.”

Jonah’s hands were around her neck. She put up just enough resistance to keep him from crushing her windpipe. How odd, she thought dizzy from a ringing blow to the head, to understand finally that she had been worthy to be selected because only those capable of love could view and judge the records according to the Will of the Higher Up.

His hand was grinding the fragile bones of her wrists painfully. She forced herself not to fight back; her broken bones could heal quickly, but would impair her ability to wield her Scythe. He wrenched her mouth open and poured the contents of a tiny bottle down her throat and she slid into a dream-like haze.

XXXXXXXXXX

Undertaker pounded at the door to the main entrance of the Phantomhive manor. He had discarded his hat and robes and was wearing a long, fitted black overcoat; his spectacles were tucked safely in the breast pocket. William and Ronald were behind him.

The door was opened by a maid with impossibly thick glasses.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said. “We require a word with your master.” He pushed his hair back and gave her his most devastating smile.

The maid turned bright pink and ran from the room screeching, “Young master! Young master! There’s a man what wants to see you.”

Ciel strolled in. “Undertaker? William?” Before he could say anything more, William’s Scythe telescoped across the room, the pruning shears pinning him to the wall on either side of his neck.

“Forgive me, my lord, for this breech of manners,” he said, “but we require unquestioning co-operation from your butler. Please summon him.”

Sebastian swooped down from the floor above, but Undertaker stepped in front of William and held the blade of his Scythe to the butler’s throat. “I’m sorry to be so rude, my dear, but we need your help.”

“There are only three of you,” Sebastian said calmly. He raked Ronald with his gaze. “And Mr. Knox does not look too well.”

Ronald scowled at him and leaned on his lawnmower.

“Furthermore,” he continued, “although they might not look it, the staff are quite adept at defending the manor.”

“No doubt they are, but your young master is in considerable peril at the moment,” said Undertaker, “and we are far more than three. Ronald, if you please…”

Ronald opened the door to reveal a sea of black-suited men. Their spectacles gleamed and the late afternoon sun glinted off their Scythes.

“The London Dispatch,” William said. “Even you, Michaelis, would have difficulty against such a number. We believe we have discovered Jonah’s whereabouts and we believe Grell is with him right now,” he added.

“Since we were working towards the same end, is this not a little dramatic?”

“We have not been entirely frank with you,” Undertaker said. “As you know, Jonah has a – grudge against Grell, but it is more serious than that. He has her cinematic record. Even if he fails in his attempt to eat her soul, he could tear it apart. Ciel, kindly order Sebastian to do whatever is necessary to see that Grell’s record is returned, intact, to the Dispatch.”

“I should hate to see anything happen to Grell’s soul – yet,” Sebastian said with a mocking smile. “Young master, you had better give the order.”

Glaring at Sebastian, he muttered, “Very well. Sebastian, this is an order! You must take whatever steps necessary to ensure that Grell Sutcliff’s record is safely returned to the keeping of the Grim Reapers.”

Sebastian bowed his head. “As you wish, young master,” he intoned as Undertaker and William withdrew their Scythes.

Ciel fingered his neck tentatively. “Why would the entire London Dispatch turn out for the sake of that freak?”

“Grell is one of _us_!” William thundered. “The Shinigami will fight to the last before we will surrender one of our own to any demon!” He glanced at Sebastian.

“Where will we find Jonah and Grell?” Sebastian inquired.

“Suthclyff Abbey,” Undertaker said. “It is on land of her childhood home.”

“Suthclyff Abbey?” Ciel burst out. “Do you mean to say that Grell grew up at Sutcliff Hall? Grell is one of _those_ Sutcliffs?”

“Why yes,” Undertaker grinned. “I believe you are distant cousins.”

“Honestly!” William interjected. “This is hardly the time to be discussing genealogy. We must leave immediately. It will be dark soon.”

They joined the assembled members of the Dispatch in front of the mansion. As William began to call out instructions, Undertaker was startled to see Clarence standing to one side. He carried a Death Scythe, more ancient than his own, its obsidian blade gleamed like black glass.

“Nice!” Ronald whistled, testing the blade with his fingertip.

“It has served me well for many years. I made a promise to Grell,” he said to Undertaker. “I will accompany you and keep it if we fail.”

XXXXXXXXXX

The day had passed in a dream-like blur. Grell was sprawled on the ground at Jonah’s feet as he wrote feverishly in her record with a Death Marker. Under the influence of the White Poppy, the memories spilled out in response to Jonah’s questions.

“And after the Prefect and his friends took their belts to you? What happened next?” he ask in a low insinuating tone.

Helpless to resist, she described the humiliation and pain that followed, vaguely grateful that the powerful drug blunted the agony as the memory was ripped from her. With what strength she had, she shut out all moments of joy and happiness, determined not to give those to him, as he forced her to relive the most hideous moments of her previous existence.

The shadows were lengthening as the day drew to a close. He had given her no more of the drug; she dully supposed that he wanted her completely aware while he oversaw her end. He was prodding her about her final days, her final hours and moments. It was odd, she thought dimly, those memories were not filled with anger or pain, just immense sadness…

_“You have shown yourself to be surprisingly competent at managing the house,” her father said once the waiter had delivered their meals. He sipped his wine approvingly. “White’s has the best cellar in London,” he murmured. “Your name will be coming up for membership next month. You will do nothing to embarrass yourself or me. Do you hear?”_

_“Yes sir,” she muttered._

_“The incident at Oxford was just tomfoolery, but people have talked.” He glared at her. “It is time you took on more responsibility. You will work with me on the estate when we return home; your wife will take over the house.”_

_“Wife?” she stammered, wishing her father didn’t always reduce her to stuttering idiocy._

_He speared a piece of beef with his fork. “I have been talking to Carlisle. His girl is the right age; she’s a pretty little thing. We see no need to wait. You will call on Jemima tomorrow; she and her mother will come to the Hall for a visit next week. Everything will be settled by then. You should be wed by the fall.”_

_She had tried; Jemima Carlisle was a sweet girl and she very much liked the idea of having a family of her own one day. The visit had gone well and she had basked in her father’s rare approval until a month before the wedding. They had rarely been left alone, but she took her intended for a walk through the grounds and, when she attempted to kiss her in the Folly, knew that she could never carry out the deception to its logical conclusion._

_Her father had, at first, been puzzled when she told him she could not marry the girl._

_“It’s just pre-wedding jitters. There’s still time for a trip to London. I should have thought of it before. We’ll find a nice, clean girl to sort you out.”_

_She stared, speechless, at her father, unable to tell him that she had already tried and what a disaster it had been._

_“Is it the girl? You seemed to like her well enough.”_

_“I can’t marry her!” she cried. “I can’t marry any woman!”_

_Finally, he understood – or thought he did. “It’s a hanging offense,” he roared._

_How could she explain? Desperately, she tried, but her father had no comprehension of the idea that her form did not fit her nature; she barely understood it herself._

_He slapped her across the face with all his strength. “You should never have been born! You are a mistake! A freak of nature!” He was panting with rage. “You will marry at the end of the month and put all this disgusting nonsense out of your head! Now, get out of my sight!”_

_In the days that followed, her father pretended their conversation had never taken place, but she could feel the waters closing over her head. She was fitted for her wedding suit, helped plan a dinner and ball for the week before and escorted her intended to parties and dinners in their honour, all the while knowing that she could not continue to live the lie that was her existence._

_She waited until her father had gone hunting for the day. Slipping into the kitchens, she found what she needed and allowed the cook to scold her affectionately and chase her out with the knife tucked under her jacket. She spent a long time wandering around the house, touching objects as if seeing them for the first time. In the stables, she stroked the noses of the horses and scratched the dogs behind their ears. This great house had been her refuge and succour all her life, but there was no longer a place for her in it._

_Finally, she fled outside and took shelter beneath the spreading branches of a vast, centuries-old oak tree where she could see her home. It took only a moment; there was little pain as she stared in fascination at the blood running onto the ground, only regret that she had failed her father so badly and relief that, at last, she could stop pretending._

“Pathetic!” Jonah jeered.

“What were you hoping for?” she asked wearily. The last of the drug had worn off. “Some dramatic tale of years of abuse and beatings? Sorry to disappoint you.”

It had grown dark; a full moon was beginning to rise. She judged that about three hours remained until midnight. Jonah’s followers were gathering. Even in the darkness, she could see their empty eyes and thought of the blank records she had seen on the night of the London fires. Like that creature, Jonah fed on pain and anguish, sucking it from them with the White Poppy, leaving only shells behind.

She could feel her own craving grow; it was that powerful. In another day, she would have been grovelling at his feet like those pitiful young men. Jonah strode among them, laughing as he held the flagon aloft, dispensing a drop here and there. He grasped her by her arm and hauled her to her feet.

“Just show some fear,” he said softly, “and it need not be so painful.” He held the flask temptingly before her. “Soon they will be like a pack of wild dogs. At my command, they will attempt to tear you to pieces, but you will not die. You will go mad from the pain. You will be begging for death.”

“Don’t you know, darling,” she began to laugh wildly, “I’m mad already.” She shrugged off her coat, reared her head back and spat at him and leapt up to the fragment of wall that still stood behind the altar. “I will never beg,” she called down.

“Oh, you will,” Jonah shouted. “When I tear the last of your soul from you, when you see Hell yawning before you, you will plead for mercy.” He flew up to the wall and grabbed a handful of her hair. “And the last thing you will remember is my face.” His weapon appeared in his upraised hand.

“How melodramatic,” said a sneering voice. Sebastian flew at him, knocking him from the wall, but not before his sword tore a deep gash across Grell’s torso.

She tumbled to the ground, aware that a wound from a demon sword could be mortal, and summoned her Death Scythe. Struggling to stand, she realized that her spectacles had flown off during her fall and she could see nothing but vague shapes. Jonah’s cohort were on her, clawing at her skin; she swung recklessly, felling several, but they came on in a never-ending surge.

Somewhere in the fray, she spied a figure, clad in black with flowing silver hair, and dismissed her Scythe for fear of blindly injuring him. They had her on the ground again, gouging her flesh, hacking at her with their weapons. Her skin was being ripped from her, great hanks of hair were being torn from her scalp. One was on her, his thumbs pressed into her eye sockets. She sank her teeth into his wrist and tasted his blood as he fell away, but she was growing weaker. The wound from the demon was bleeding heavily and, in dim surprise, she watched as her cinematic record began to unspool.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ronald and William were taken aback by Grell’s childhood home and even Sebastian raised an eyebrow at the sight of the majestic house.

“Senpai grew up here?’ Ronald exclaimed. “Whew!”

There she was, atop a crumbling wall of the ruined abbey, her hair streaming about her as she taunted the demon.

“Spears, you and Knox retrieve the record. No doubt he has it on some makeshift altar,” Sebastian said scornfully. “I’ll deal with him. I imagine you will want to concern yourself with Grell’s safety,” he said to Undertaker and leapt into the air as Jonah’s weapon appeared.

Undertaker saw Grell fall and knew she had been injured. “They’re tearing her to pieces,” he muttered to William. “Get her record right away.”

He flung himself into the pack on Grell, swinging his Scythe, cutting them down, but more kept appearing. Several feet behind him, William caught up Grell’s record from where it sat, as Sebastian had predicted on an improvised altar. Jonah jumped down from the wall, knocking him down. William slashed at Jonah with his Scythe and managed to roll away from him, but the demon had clawed deep gouges into his chest.

“Take it!” he shouted to Ronald as he swooped down from above and seized the record from William, just as Sebastian pounced on Jonah.

The night was filled with sudden bursts of light as Clarence and the members of the London Dispatch appeared. With an agility belying his years, Clarence snatched the record from Ronald and leapt to Undertaker’s side.

“Her soul is escaping!” he shouted. “I have to capture it!” He raised his Scythe and deftly caught the unspooling record and began to manipulate it with a finesse that no other reaper could hope to match.

Undertaker knew he had to abandon Grell in order to protect Clarence from Jonah’s horde if they were to preserve her record and soul. His Scythe swung in a deadly arc, cutting down all who approached. This was no ordinary collection; Clarence held the Grell’s record aloft with one hand and wielded his Scythe with the other, skillfully guiding the unfurling strips of film into place and catching stray wisps that threatened to escape into the aether. His brow was furrowed in fierce concentration, blind to the carnage around him, not hearing the howls and cries of the fallen and deaf to Grell’s screams of torment.

If he lived until the Last Trump, Undertaker knew he would never forget the sound of her agony. Her shrieks rang in his head, filling him with a rage so visceral it almost blinded him. But even more terrifying was when she went silent. No more of her record appeared. Clarence captured the last of it and closed the book.

“Get away from here and keep it safe,” he shouted over the din. “Protect him and ensure no one approaches him,” he ordered several members of the Dispatch.

Jonah’s followers were far fewer now. The Dispatch were picking them off with grim efficiency until all of Grell’s attackers had fallen, but there was still work to be done.

Undertaker leapt across the altar. William, Ronald and Sebastian faced Jonah in what had once been the transept of the abbey. With a howl of fury, Undertaker flew at him and sank his Scythe into Jonah’s back. The demon dropped to the ground and William’s Scythe telescoped out, neatly clipping off the hand that brandished the sword.

Sebastian snatched up the sword and plunged it into Jonah’s chest. A horrifying bellow rang out, black blood poured from his eyes and mouth and he went still as a gruesome stench surrounded them. The air around Sebastian began to darken and blur.

“I must ask that you look away,” he said. “I shall take care of what is left of him.”

A high-pitched, grating noise, as if the earth itself was being torn asunder, rent the air, making them cover their ears. Thousands of voices, moaning in agony, could be heard and they were buffeted by a howling wind that raised up the dirt and pelted them with sand and stones. It lasted only an instant, but seemed like an eternity – and then silence.

Undertaker raced to Grell’s side, finally daring to look at her. He fell to his knees and cradled her broken and battered body. Barely recognizable, except for her hair, she bled from dozens of wounds. Chunks of her flesh had been gouged away, great patches of her skin had been ripped from her and her entrails threatened to spill out.

Clarence joined them. “She’s gone,” he said, “but her record is safe. We have preserved her soul.”

“She still lives,” he insisted.

“Her body lives. It will live forever – like this, but she is gone. The most merciful thing to do would be to end it.”

“He is correct,” William said, his voice suspiciously thick. He laid a hand gently on Undertaker’s shoulder. “I will do it.”

“No,” he whispered, gathering her into his arms and standing. “No!” he cried.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Clarence said, “but William is right. There is no hope. No one can save her.”

“You’re wrong!” he shouted. “There is always hope! There is One!”

He held her closer and raised his Scythe, bringing it down with a mighty swoop, to slash open a portal. The gash flooded the night with a blinding light that seared their eyes and, when it closed, Undertaker and Grell were gone.


	9. Chapter 9

It was indescribable. She was being rent apart; her bones were being ground into powder; her entrails were being torn from her. Wave after wave of pain slammed into her in a never-ending crescendo of torture. White-hot agony scorched her innards and she knew what it was to be demented with suffering as the pain increased to a pinnacle of intolerable anguish and grew again.

She would not beg – only pray that she might catch a last glimpse of her beloved before losing herself completely in this wilderness of torment. The white light was excruciating, but she could hear his voice, softly pleading. Another voice – her father’s, filled her head, gently whispering, “Grell, my child.”

And she was flooded with joy and was at peace.

XXXXXXXXXX

_May 25, 1890_

_Whitsunday_

It had been seven weeks since the events at the abbey. Sometimes, William could last as long as three days without going into Grell’s empty office, but everyone knew he carried her spectacles in his coat pocket. He had received a written commendation for his part in organizing the Dispatch that night and there was talk of a promotion for Ronald.

“It doesn’t seem right, taking Senpai’s job,” he said.

“Grell would be proud of you,” William insisted.

“I know… but it seems so final.”

The Dispatch wasn’t the same without her. Even those colleagues who had disliked her admitted as much. Ronald went on a rampage, dating and dropping one girl after another until William scolded him.

“Not only is it unprofessional, but Grell would be furious – and go off on a tirade about how to treat a lady.”

As for William, he buried himself in his work, gladly taking on all the overtime available unless Ronald hauled him out of the office. He was in Grell’s office again. They had retrieved her coat and hung it on the coatrack in the corner. He fingered the absurd black bow on its back. Grell had been maddening, infuriating and impossible and he would give anything to see the scarlet-coated figure stalking around the office again.

Ronald burst into the office. “Boss! She’s awake! And she’s creating the most awful fuss in the Infirmary.”

William smiled for the first time in weeks. “I have no doubt about that.”

They could hear her all the way down the long corridor of the Infirmary, shouting angrily, “I will not calm down and let the doctor examine me! If you don’t let me out of bed I’ll tear the lot of you to pieces!”

Ronald shoved past William and ran into the room. “Senpai!” he shouted. “You’re awake!” And flung his arms around her.

She held him tight for a moment and kissed him on the cheek, grinning as he turned red. “William,” she called over Ronald’s shoulder, “tell these fools to leave me alone and answer my questions. No one will tell me anything.” She glared about at the assembled doctors and nurses.

Barely managing to restrain a smile, William asked, “Honestly Grell! Do you have to make such a fuss about everything?”

“Where is he?” she demanded. “Why will no one tell me anything? What happened to him?”

“Calm yourself. Undertaker is recovering, but still quite weak. He is in a room down the hall.”

Grell fell back on her pillows; she was pale and terribly thin, but most of her wounds were fully healed. “Would it have been that difficult for you lot to have told me that?” she snapped. She addressed William. “Recovering from what? Was he injured?”

“Please Grell,” he pleaded, “let the doctors examine you and Ronald and I will answer all your questions.”

They waited outside the door, exchanging grins as they heard her exclaim, “I certainly will _not_ use a bedpan! You can help me over there.”

Finally, the doctor appeared as the others made good their escapes. “Agent Sutcliff appears to be on the road to recovery, but we’ve never had a case like this before.”

“You’ve never had a patient like Grell before,” William chuckled.

They approached her bed; she appeared calm and was smiling with deceptive sweetness. “Now William, tell me what is going on and take me to see him or our little tiff in the office will seem mild in comparison.”

He and Ronald pulled up chairs beside the bed. “What do you remember exactly?”

“A great pack of them were on me. I saw my record begin to escape. A lot of pain,” she shrugged. “A bright light and voices – then nothing until now. What happened to Jonah?”

“Sebastian took care of him,” Ronald put in. “I don’t think I want to know what really happened to him.”

“Ronald here, retrieved your record and got it to Clarence.”

“William had it first before Jonah knocked him down. I just passed it over.”

“Ronald was still weak from his injuries, but he acted with no thought of himself to preserve your soul,” William said with a warm glance at the younger reaper.

“You should have seen William,” he insisted. “He went right after that demon. Of course, Sebastian helped, but he was-“

“Enough of the mutual admiration society,” Grell interrupted. “What happened next and what happened to Undertaker?”

“You must thank Clarence,” William stated. “He took your record and gathered what spilled out. I’ve never seen anything like it. You owe him your soul. Were it not for him, it would have been lost. No one of us could have accomplished what he did.”

“And the rest of the Dispatch!” Ronald exclaimed. “It was incredible – more than the night of the fires. William made all the plans and they cut down all of Jonah’s followers. They took out all of them that were on you. Undertaker protected Clarence while he collected your record.”

“Oh dear!” she said. “I suppose I missed the after-party. But what happened to Undertaker?”

“We thought you were gone,” William admitted. “Your body was still alive, but the state of you… We believed you were lost.”

“Except Undertaker. He wouldn’t hear of it. He opened a portal like nothing you’ve ever seen. We had no idea where it went and he took you up and you were gone.” Ronald shook his head. “We almost went blind from the light. I don’t know how long you were gone, but, by the time we could see again, you both were back.”

“You were whole again,” William said, “but Undertaker… We believe he took you into the Presence.”

Her eyes were huge. “The voice I heard. I thought it was my father. You mean-“

“Yes Grell,” he said softly. “Undertaker made a journey that should have been impossible. He carried you to the Seat of the Higher Up to restore you to us. It almost tore him inside out. He could barely move or speak for weeks afterwards and is still very weak.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Her lip were trembling and tears spilled down her face. “To think that he… and you… and the rest of the Dispatch… You did all of that for _me_.”

“Why do you never have a handkerchief when you need one?” William sighed, passing her a monogrammed square of linen.

“Aw Senpai,” Ronald said, “don’t cry. You don’t want your eyes to be all puffy when we take you to see Undertaker. Do you?”

That stopped her. “Heavens no!” She glanced around the room. “Hand me that little bag over there, will you. I need to fix my face before we go. How did it get here?”

“William thought you might want all that clobber when you came ‘round. He had it sent from Undertaker’s with a few other things.”

“Why William,” she said quietly, patting his hand, “how sweet of you.”

“Quite,” he muttered adjusting his spectacles. He reached into his jacket pocket. “You’ll be needing these,” he added passing her glasses to her.

“Oh thank you, darling! As soon as I get sorted out we can go.” She hunted through her bag.

“Honestly Grell! He stormed the gates of Heaven for you. I don’t think he cares what you look like.”

“Oh let her be, Boss. Of course she wants to make herself look nice for her fellow,” Ronald said with a grin. He handed her a mirror and hairbrush as she tugged off the tie that fastened her hair behind her head and he and William braced themselves.

“My hair!” she shrieked. “What happened to my hair?”

“You lost some in the altercation,” William said gravely, although his mouth twitched at the corner, “but it seems to be growing back.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she cried. “What is this? Where did it come from?” She pointed at the thick silver streak that now grew down one side of her head.

“It was there when you returned. You should wear it as a badge of honour. It is a symbol that you have been touched by the Divine,” he answered.

“I suppose it is rather distinguished,” she said cocking her head from side to side while she examined herself in the mirror. “Now, you two, scat and send a nurse in to help me wash up and get out of this dreary hospital gown.”

William hastened to do her bidding. “Let’s go, Ronald,” he grinned. “After all, a lady needs her privacy when she is getting dressed.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Twenty minutes later, Ronald was pushing Grell in wheelchair down the corridor. She had made up her face and brushed out her ragged hair as best she could and was wrapped in a pink and white dotted-Swiss muslin peignoir. Although she insisted she could walk, she had finally agreed that collapsing in a heap in the hallway, if her legs gave out, would be unladylike and most undignified. William’s flat statement that he would leave her where she fell finally convinced her.

Undertaker lay still in the bed. His normally pale skin seemed faded to greyish-white and he, too, was dreadfully thin. Ronald pushed Grell right up to the bed.

She laid her head on his chest and wound her arms around his neck. “Oh my darling,” she whispered.

His hand moved slowly to stroke her hair. “My wild rose,” he murmured.

Shakily, she stood and climbed onto the bed, gesturing to the others to leave her alone as they tried to help her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and pulled his head down to speak softly into his ear.

He reached up to cup her cheek as William and Ronald left the room. They held each other wordlessly for a long time. Grell gently traced his scars with her fingertips while he caressed her face.

Finally, he spoke. “What did you just call me?” he asked.

“It is your true name, isn’t it?”

“Well yes, but there is almost no one left who knows it.”

“And I shall use it only when we are alone.”

“My dear, you may call me anything you choose, as long as you remain at my side.” His arms tightened around her.

She grinned wickedly at him. “What if I call you Sebastian?” she giggled.

“Anything but that,” he answered, tapping her nose with his finger. “I see even a spell in the Presence can’t change you. I heard you shouting at that doctor earlier. It wasn’t very nice what you were threating to do to the poor man.”

“It wasn’t very nice of him to try to take my temperature like that,” she grumbled. “What’s wrong with my mouth?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he laughed, pressing his lips against hers.

With great reluctance, and only on the promise that Undertaker would be moved to her room, Grell allowed William to take her back to her bed.

“Do you think you could arrange for a hairdresser to visit me?” she asked. “I’m such a mess.” She clutched her tattered hair in despair.

To her shock, William reached out and ruffled her head. “I like it. It reminds me of when we first met.”

She caught his hand and squeezed it. “Oh William,” she sighed. “We’ve had quite a ride together.”

“We have,” he said softly. “We shall continue to do so. I’m looking forward to it.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Grell was shocked to see their room fill with flowers over the next few days and amazed by the visitors that poured in to wish her well.

“Who would have thought…” she said to Undertaker, eyeing the bunch of violets three Maintenance workers had brought in.

“You heard them,” he said. “You always treated them with courtesy and kindness. I think, my dear, you may find you have far more friends than you believed,” he added as a group of secretaries bearing chocolates and a brightly wrapped box appeared.

Clarence had visited her to present her with a charming antique faience inkstand and endured her exuberant gratitude. He spoke to them both for a long time about the state of Grell’s record.

“Fortunately, Jonah had not started consuming your memories. Your record is intact, including what he stole from you and what escaped that night. But you are remarkably stubborn. I have taken the liberty of viewing your record and you managed to hang on to a great deal, even while it was being torn from you.”

“You’re not planning on extracting the rest, are you?” she asked dubiously.

“We see no need. Alec and I have consulted with the Council. It has not impaired your ability to reap up until this point.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It feels like far too many people have been poking around inside of me lately.”

The Head Librarian stopped by as well. “It is somewhat irregular, but since yours is such an unusual case, I thought you might like to know about the fate of your home. Your record reveals that you loved it very much.”

“I did,” she said softly.

“After your father’s death, it passed into the hands of your second cousin. His family live there today.” He glanced around warily. “This must go no further, but rest assured that the house will stand for many years to come. The era of great houses, owned by one family is passing. Your home will serve as a military hospital and, eventually, become a children’s home.”

Grell dabbed her eyes. “How wonderful,” she said. “I think Father would have approved.”

“Are you sure you can be content in a few rooms behind an old shop?” Undertaker asked after he left.

She reached across the space between their beds to take his hand. “Don’t be silly, darling. I told you before all I ever wanted was a home and someone to look after. I love your little shop and, together, we’ll make it a home.”

XXXXXXXXXX

_September 29, 1890_

_Michaelmas_

“Does Undertaker know you’re here?” Sebastian asked, leaning against a pillar of the old summerhouse.

“No,” she shrugged.

“Do you intend to tell him?”

“Most likely. He won’t approve, but he certainly wouldn’t dare forbid me.”

“I suppose not,” Sebastian said with a faint smile, coming to sit next to her on the marble bench. “You seem fully recovered.”

“I am. I would have come to see you sooner, but-“

“You had other things to concern yourself with.” He picked up her left and twisted the silver ring she wore.

“Yes,” she said, turning pink and pulling her hand away. “But I simply had to come and thank you for your part in dealing with Jonah.”

“I did act under some compulsion,” he reminded her.

“I know,” she giggled. “I wish I could have seen that. You know it’s not too likely we’ll be crossing paths professionally any more, unless you and the boy stop by Undertaker’s for information.”

“I know.”

“So, I thought I should show my gratitude to you.”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

It had to be a reflection of the early morning sun. Sebastian’s eyes could not be gleaming with suppressed laughter, she thought. It was odd sitting comfortably with him like two old adversaries who had faced one another in countless campaigns.

“By pledging that I will not attempt to claim that kiss with tongues your master promised I could have,” she grinned.

“That hardly seems like a fair trade,” he complained. “You get your cinematic record restored and I don’t even get my kiss.”

“Oh Bassy,” she laughed uncomfortably. “You mustn’t tease me like that.”

“Who says I’m teasing?” His eyes bored into her. “But we’ll have centuries to find out.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“You’re not annoyed with me darling, are you?” Grell asked a little later back in the shop. “It would have been too rude not to have thanked Sebastian personally.”

“It depends,” he said warily. “What form did your gratitude take?”

“I promised not to ask for that kiss the brat said I could have.”

“I should hope so,” he grumbled. “I should hope my wife isn’t demanding kisses from other men.”

“Really dear!” she laughed. “And you claim not to be a jealous man! I think you’re still annoyed about the cake.”

“It was in rather poor taste, if you ask me. Especially at our wedding.”

It had no legal force in either the human world or the realm, but their friends had gathered to witness them exchange their vows in a simple ceremony in Undertaker’s garden and sat down to a large meal Grell had cooked. Somehow, word had gotten out and, on that morning, a cake, elaborately decorated with red roses and white lilies, had arrived at the shop, with best wishes from Ciel Phantomhive. She suspected Sebastian had made it – a suspicion that was confirmed when they cut into it and found, under the traditional hard white icing, a devil’s food cake.

Changing the subject, he asked, “Are you sure this is what you want to do, my dear? The Council as good as said you could have your pick of jobs.”

“I still don’t understand why they don’t think it’s suitable for me to reap any longer,” she protested. “Just because I had a chit-chat with the Higher Up.”

“They feel that your – unusual talents would be best employed elsewhere from now on,” he said. “And there is no doubt that you will be called upon to collect in the future.”

“I suppose. Oh dear,” she sighed. “Do you think what the Council said is true?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said gravely. “The next century will see warfare on an unprecedented scale. The London Dispatch must expand to be ready.”

“And they need good instructors. I don’t know how good I’ll be, but when I think of my own training… How much they wouldn’t or couldn’t tell us.” She fell silent for a moment. “Think of Jonah; things could have been so different.”

“My dear,” he said, helping her on with her coat, “your students will be very lucky to have you. You will be magnificent – beautiful, fierce, prickly and sweet.” He reached into his pocket and pinned onto her lapel a wild rose.

XXXXXXXXX

William surveyed the newest crop of trainees. Surely, he and Grell hadn’t looked that young when they began.

“Good morning, all,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “I am Supervisor William T. Spears. I shall be overseeing part of your training. As soon as your principal instructor, Senior Agent Sutcliff arrives, we shall begin.”

A buzz went around the room at the mention of Grell’s name. Word of her exploits had reached even the newest inhabitants of the realm.

The door flung open and Grell strode in, her coat streaming behind her. “Good morning darlings!” she called. “William,” she complained, tossing her hair back, “don’t look at me like that. I can’t be more than a minute late.” She beamed around the room. “Oh my! How this takes me back.” She perched on the edge of the desk. “Now dears,” she said, “I know William will want to get started right away, but I think we should all take a few moments to get to know one another. After all, we’re all going to be together for a very long time.”

A young man near the back raised his hand. “Agent Sutcliff, ma’am?”

“Please dear, I’m not that old. All of you must call me Grell. And all of you must feel free to ask me anything you’d like, but I must warn you…”

They all looked at her with apprehension.

“No doubt, some of you have already heard dreadful tales of me.” She glanced around, seeing confirmation on many of their faces. “Well,” she said, “you must know that every single word is… true.”

She winked broadly at William.

And William winked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mother passed away while I was working on this story. Writing it was very therapeutic. I must extend my thanks for the kind comments and kudos received.


End file.
